


Little Bit

by Modernise



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Creepy, Cuddles, Doctor/Patient, Fluff, Insanity, Jealousy, Kids, Kink Meme, Kissing, M/M, Melatonin, Obsessive Behaviour, Photographs, Possessive Behaviour, Prescription Drug Use, Prompt Fill, Psychopath, Puppets, Sleep, Spying, Stalking, Therapy, Unrequited, War Veteran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modernise/pseuds/Modernise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>War Veteran Altaïr has a few screws loose after being discharged because of severe head trauma. He has to appear regularly to therapeutic sessions, the therapist being none other than Malik. Altaïr's heart suddenly leaps when he chats with him and subtly starts going mad for Malik, like all crazy insane status. He stealthily stalks him in halls, gets into Malik's personal space, even going as far as to dress up as a janitor or coworkers to be close to him. When he finally gets a taste of Malik he goes ballistic trying to get into his pants. He stalks him home, and gets extremely jealous that he almost kills any stranger Malik is nice to</i>..." [FILL for Kink Meme]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Princípium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a fill for a [Kink Meme](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=10298115#cmt10298115), albeit I made a bunch of mistakes not specified... I am a terrible person. But it was much too good to let go! So, yes, the Summary says it all. Props to the OP for their wonderful and creative prompt! And I am terribly sorry if I butcher[ed] this perf prompt. ):

It was worth it. All worth it.

Altaïr had his head resting on the palm of his hand, now a permanent callosity due to the amount of force and friction that was once constantly applied to it. He gazed in awe at the Greek God of a man sitting less than two metre's away from him.

"Have you ever been betrayed by someone while serving?" that winsome man had asked. Altaïr continued with his gazing. He had expected those therapeutic sessions to end up being some stupid bullshit meeting with an old knave harassing the living crap out of Altaïr with a cascade of pointless queries. Instead, it ended up being  _au contraire_.

He felt more comfortable than he had felt in a while.

One empty room, a fetching lad, and Altaïr. Alone.

"Have you ever been betrayed by someone while serving?" the man asked again, this time with a rather impatient tinge in his tone. Altaïr decided to humour him, and he nodded.

"By whom?" the man questioned.

Altaïr grit his teeth. Just thinking about the name caused his blood to boil. "Robert de Sablé," he spat out. Stupid, worthless bastard.

The man nodded his head. "Ah," he murmured while simultaneously scribbling some notes down on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. "I see."

 _No_ , Altaïr had wanted to say, feeling rather frustrated.  _No you do not see what the fuck war could do_. He kept it to himself, not wanting to displease his attractive therapist. He barely even knew the man, but he wanted to know more. He wanted to know his favourite colour. He wanted to know what he liked. He wanted to know what he despised. He wanted to know what made him happy. He wanted to know where he lived. He wanted to know what brand toothpaste he used. He wanted to know...

"What's your name?" Altaïr immediately blabbered. His therapist looked at him as if he was some sort of deranged lunatic, which he was. He then sighed and replied, "I have already introduced myself."

"Then kindly repeat yourself," Altaïr stated rather bluntly.

The man huffed out in irritation before murmuring, "Your therapist."

"No," Altaïr demanded. "Your  _real_  name."

"What does it matter to you?" the man retorted, somehow managing to retain a professional attitude.

Altaïr smirked. He was snarky. "Because you're my therapist."

The man looked at him in disbelief before muttering, "Malik Al-Sayf," he looked down at his clipboard before saying, "Dr. Al-Sayf, but you can call me Dr.," he then pointed to the name tag attached to his shirt and added, "It's on my name tag."

Altaïr's eyes widened for a moment.

 _Malik Al-Sayf_.  _Malik_. King of Swords.

He was West Asian? Or perhaps an Arab? This caused Altaïr to feel more connected to him. They shared similar heritage, too? Although his mother was a Eurasian, specifically Armenian, he still had Middle-Eastern blood in him from his father. Even his name was Arabic.

"I think I'll stick to calling you Malik," Altaïr proclaimed innocently.

Malik rolled his eyes. "Sure. I suppose I'll be calling you by your name as well," he looked down at his clipboard. " _Altaïr._ "

Altaïr nearly shivered. He didn't know why, but the way he said his name. The way it smoothly slid off his tongue as if he had spent his entire life saying that one word alone. It was just so... alluring. Just another reason why Altaïr was starting to get more and more attracted to this man, Malik, whom he had barely known for less than an hour.

Malik cleared his throat. "That's all," he firmly stated.

Altaïr's brows knit together. So soon? He actually wanted to know more, to be around him more, to get to talk to him more. An hour around this man did _not_  suffice. Just a little longer. Even a second longer.

"Your next session is in a week," Malik announced, handing him a miniscule card with the information on it. Altaïr's hand lightly brushed over his skin. Altaïr marveled at how soft and smooth it was. It was simply flawless.

Malik seemed to notice, and promptly retracted his hand, face heating up.

"I'll be seeing you," Altaïr had said cooly. He lingered for a couple of seconds, wanting to embrace the therapist but after he saw that he wasn't getting a reaction he slowly exited, keeping his eyes on Malik the entire time. 

After getting to the door, he took one longing look at Malik before leaving. He then got to the receptionist to make more frequent appointments with Malik. Much to his disappointment, Malik was only available three-days a week, alternating between four-days a week every other week. He was hoping that he'd be available seven-days a week. He exhaled in frustration before scheduling an appointment for three-days a week. He was still missing four days.

That didn't matter, though.

He'd just find other ways to be with Malik, the stunning therapist.

 _His_  therapist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter Title, " _Princípium_ ", means "The Beginning" in Latin
>   * [Chapter 1 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t0=1.%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=1)
>   * Work Title derived from " _[Little Bit](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6Qqhhlb3T0)_ " by Lykke Li
> 



	2. Somnium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr's going to be late, and it's _all his alarm clock's fault_. Or was his roommate to blame?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry that this chapter sucks... but I promise the next chapter(s) will make up for it! This chapter also gives some background information, too, so you guys will have a better insight.
> 
> To be honest, I wanted to (and still want to) be part of the Navy. Possibly an Engineer. For one or two year(s). That's it!

"Shut up, I'm gonna be late because of you," Altaïr grumbled, hastily shoving a bagel in his mouth while simultaneously slipping his hoodie on. He was already five minutes late, he didn't want to add to that number. It was all because of that Goddamn alarm clock...

"So?" the tanned brunet asked, arms folded across his brawny chest, only covered with a thin layer of cotton. He watched Altaïr buzz around from place to place with slight amusement.

Altaïr huffed out irritably. "I can't be late."

"And why not, _amico mio_?"

By this point, Altaïr was hastily putting on his socks. "Because," Altaïr grunted, obviously having problems with a sock much too small for his foot. "He's _my_ therapist."

The other brunet raised one eyebrow in bemusement. He sometimes wondered why he was even roommates with that guy. Yeah, sure, they were both former Navy SEALs. They had gone through the same shit, thick and thin, together. And Altaïr had been the best of the best on the entire team. He was one of the main reason's as to why all their operations always ended up being a success. Well, that was until some jealous _pezzo di merda_ by the name of Robert de Sablé purposely sabotaged an operation. He thought that he'd save several other teammates and end up making Altaïr looking like the black sheep, thus making him look like the hero. Unfortunately, it went terribly wrong. He ended up giving Altaïr a concussion, who was stuck in a coma for months. A fellow comrade, Clay, was only a pinhead away from being permanently paralyzed, had he not gotten medical attention soon enough. Even their Navy Doctor, some muscular guy called Connor, damaged his arm and nearly broke his skull. They were all honourably discharged. Their Captain, some old dude by the name of Captain Rashid Ad-Din Sinan, Captain Ad-Din Sinan, or just Al Mualim for short, was especially sad to see Altaïr go. As for Robert de Sablé, he had been dishonourably discharged along with some other guy called Abbas. So, basically, Altaïr and him had a hell of a time before all this shit.

Well, except for Hell Week. That had been pure torture.

Altaïr began to snap his fingers. "Hey," he said, continuing to snap his fingers. "Ezio."

Ezio realised that Altaïr was calling him. "Hm?" he mumbled intelligently.

"Have you seen my phone?" Altaïr asked.

Ezio snorted. "You really do end up losing _everything._ "

Altaïr pouted, impatience clearly etched onto his features. "C'mon, just tell me. I don't have all day."

Ezio sighed and walked over to his room, where he had seen the mobile device. Even though it had been a while, his legs and feet still stung ever so slightly, constant reminders of Robert's fuckery. Ezio had broken his legs because of that _bastardo_. He growled inwardly. After locating and snatching Altaïr's mobile he trudged back towards the chap.

"Hurry up!" Altaïr whined. Ezio rolled his eyes and continued walking at his pace. By the time he reached Altaïr the boy seized the device without as much as a thank you, practically flying out of the front door. Only after closing the door did Ezio start wondering why the hell Altaïr was so enthusiastic about the therapy sessions. Initially, he had actually been completely _against_ the idea, specifically _Ezio's_ idea, but now it seemed as if he actually looked forward to it. Maybe he had _una dottoressa bellissima_. Ezio scoffed. Altaïr was one of the most asexual guys he had ever known. His only love was warfare, that was it. For him to have found someone was already a miracle. That doctor of his must have been somebody special.

He'd have to go meet that person, and see for himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Somnium_ , means "Dream" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-2 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t0=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f1=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t1=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=2)
>   * **Italian Translations**
> 

>   1. _Amico mio_ = My friend
>   2. _Pezzo di merda_ = Piece of shit
>   3. _Bastardo_ = Bastard
>   4. _Una dottoressa bellissima_ = An attractive doctor
> 



	3. Ero retro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr arrives ~~a bit~~ late and rather disoriented to Malik's session. Initially distraught, he comes up with an idea, or more of a _plan_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit starts to get _real_.

Malik sat behind the computer screen, occasionally typing away. He was supposed to be inputting the 'classified data' of his various patients, which he was, but at the same time he was waiting for some other dolt patient of his who was _forty-five minutes late_. Malik sighed. Yes, it was his job and naturally it occurs frequently, but it ticked him off whenever a patient decided not to show up. It'd be OK if maybe they'd call a day before, hell, even a couple of hours before. But to force him to wait for sixty-minutes on some fool who would probably never show up—

 _Bam_.

Some idiot had pushed his door open, not putting even a _little_ effort to be quiet, immediately interrupting Malik's train of thoughts. He looked up, not bothering to hide the expression of sheer exasperation on his face.

It was that new patient of his, Altaïr. Malik put on a mask of calmness so that he could hide his irritation and remain professional.

"You're late," Malik muttered.

Altaïr looked as if he ran thirty kilometres within a minute. With his cheeks flushed, eyes wide open, lips parted so he could greedily suck in as much air possible, he looked as if he was about to pass out any minute. Malik wouldn't be too surprised if that _had_ happened.

"I'm sorry!" Altaïr blabbered, still fighting for his breath. A series of incoherent stutters flew out of Altaïr's mouth. Frankly, Malik had no idea what the fool was saying, or _trying_ to say.

"It's fine, it's fine," Malik comforted. "Except now you only have approximately ten minutes left."

Altaïr looked as if someone had told him that he was not a Jackpot winner. He looked like all his dreams and ambitions had been crushed. Still heaving heavily, he wiped his forehead, heavily drenched and drizzling with perspiration. "But I thought I had an hour."

"You did, but you're fifty minutes late," Malik said. How did Altaïr not know that? It's not as if it was Malik's fault that he was late. Was it? Malik stood up and walked towards his patient. Malik sat Altaïr down before facing his patient and promptly seating himself down, sitting a mere twelve inches away from the other. 

Altaïr stared at his therapist. It seemed as if he had grown more attractive than he had seen him two days ago. Was that even possible? Because even back then the man had seemed like the most attractive being in the entire history of the Universe. The man was a fucking God, _Dammit_. Much too divine to be even remotely human.

Altaïr didn't know what exactly was stopping him from indulging in that impeccably bronzed, celestial piece of flesh. It was only a couple of layers of fabric separating him from the others skin. Altaïr grinned deviously, subconsciously licking his lips. Those stupid, worthless pieces of cloth. In that instant, Altaïr's hatred had no bounds.

Malik looked at his deranged patient with a quizzical expression. He was no anatomical doctor, merely a therapist and psychologist, but there was something slightly off with Altaïr. Poor guy was probably suffering from some fucked up after-effects of dehydration. Perhaps he needed some water? "Altaïr," Malik said. Altaïr's eyes suddenly sparkled and gleamed in amusement. Malik tried making his voice a notch firmer. " _Altaïr_. Are you OK? Do you need some water?"

Altaïr shivered. Fuck, how in the _hell_ did Malik say his name like that? He watched as the other man, his therapist, stood up and walked over towards his work desk. Malik kneeled down, now more-or-less about the same height as his mini-fridge. He opened the door, producing a frosty flask of bottled water. After grabbing his own canteen filled with his favourite drink, Jasmine tea, Malik strode back over to Altaïr, the latter never keeping his eyes off his therapist. Malik sat down again and handed Altaïr the bottle of water. "Here," Malik commanded. "Drink."

Altaïr had wanted to tell him that _Yes_ , _he'd do_ anything _that he said_ , but he kept it to himself once again. Twisting the bottle with ease, Altaïr complied and chugged down his water. Within seconds it was gone.

Malik looked stunned. "Careful you don't get water poisoning."

"Well, you told me to drink, so I did," Altaïr grinned, pleased with the fact that he had been able to impress Malik. In reality, Malik had been far from impressed. He was actually taking mental notes, because this patient of his was starting to show symptoms of something. What it was, he wasn't exactly sure of.

Glancing down at his watch, Malik realised that he had wasted five extra minutes, surpassing Altaïr's appointment from sixty minutes to sixty-five minutes. He had caused another patient to wait five extra minutes, all because of _this guy_. "Alright, Altaïr, this session's over," Malik proclaimed.

Altaïr looked disappointed, and somewhat heartbroken, again. Why did time fly whenever he spent time with Malik? It felt as if he only spent one-tenth of a second in his presence—

Somebody knocked on the door. Malik told them that the door was unlocked, and the head of a pale, freckled blond peeped in. The man had bright blue eyes, filled with joviality and joy.

"Hello, Mal," he greeted happily, with a grin. "And hello, Sir."

Altaïr nodded an informal 'hey' back. Malik smiled briefly before returning the greeting.

"I've just come to remind you that we'll be getting housekeeping today," the blond informed. After seeing the exasperated look on Malik's face, he swiftly added, "But don't worry, they'll be doing the majority of the work during lunch," the blond laughed nervously.

Housekeeping... Malik... lunch. Something immediately clicked in Altaïr's mind. Yes, of course! Housekeeping was the answer. If he couldn't spend time with Malik during his sessions, then he'd make time _between_ his sessions. It was _brilliant._  How come Altaïr had never thought of this before? Altaïr darkly giggled at his ingenuity in silence. He was a fucking prodigy.

"Oh, and you have a patient waiting," the blond finally said.

Malik nodded. "Thank you, Leo," and with that, the blond left.

He then faced Altaïr, giving him an expectant expression. Altaïr knew that it was his time to go, but it wouldn't be too long.

He'd be back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, " _Ero retro_ ", means "I will be back" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-3 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t0=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f1=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t1=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f2=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t2=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=3)
> 



	4. Ita propinquus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr is on a _roll_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Sorry not sorry.~~

The question wasn't _who_ , nor was it _where_. The real question was _how_. How could Altaïr successfully nab the housekeepers clothing without getting caught? Normally he'd get them in a sleeper hold, or he'd apply a certain pressure to the back of their necks to render them unconscious. The only thing was that he didn't want to get in trouble with the law enforcement. Then Malik would surely never want to talk to him ever again, and he'd be stuck in some cell somewhere far away from him. 

Altaïr didn't like that thought at all. It was the very base of his nightmares.

He exhaled and walked towards the bathroom, trying to look casual and normal. He grabbed his phone out from his pocket. It was five minutes before twelve in the afternoon. Assuming that Malik's lunch period would start at twelve sharp, last for an hour, and eventually end at one 'o clock, that meant that Altaïr only had five minutes until Malik would be gone. For sixty minutes.

 _Hell_. _No_.

Altaïr wouldn't let that happen. He had to make up for those fifty minutes lost. Well, theoretically they were sixty minutes since he had spent five minutes trying to catch his breath. That didn't count. The other five minutes were wasted on some dumb blond who wouldn't shut up. And the way he addressed Malik so informally, just calling him plain old _Mal_. That meant that they weren't just working partners, or employees, or whatever they were supposed to be. The way that Malik had smiled back to _him_ , to that foolish blond. They must have been something closer, something more than just mere acquaintances.

Altaïr's fists curled into balls. His knuckles grew white from his grip. 

What if they were... in a relationship?

Oh, _fuck_ _no_.

The sheer thought of that stupid, redundant, puerile blond being anything more than just an acquaintance made Altaïr's blood boil. How old was he, anyway? Even prepubescent nine-year-olds looked manlier than him. Malik deserved better. Malik deserved _Altaïr_ , and no one else because anyone else was simply inferior.

Altaïr let out a low growl, fist smashing into the mirror. He noticed that he left a crack on the mirror. He took in deep breaths and closed his eyes.

He'd find some way to be with _his_ Malik, all else be damned. He remembered hearing that stupid blond asking Malik to go out to lunch with him and some other guy called Shane or something and some other guys whose names Altaïr didn't catch or care to remember. This was after the other patient of Malik's left. It wasn't fair, that guy had a full hour while Altaïr only had less than ten minutes. He still found reason to smile, remembering how Malik had rejected the blond's offer, albeit he had been completely polite about it. Apparently he was buried in his work and had to finish it all. He had no time to waste on lunch, thus forcing him to stay locked up in his office till all the paperwork was done. The blond had seemed disheartened, but he left Malik alone.

Good. He was a pest, and if he hadn't left Malik alone Altaïr would've taken out some repellant. Altaïr wouldn't mind annihilating that pallid idiot if it meant that he'd get closer to Malik. One wouldn't allow a mosquito to continue feasting on their blood, would they? Eventually the creature would have to get slapped to its demise.

Altaïr looked up. Air ducts... and they were fairly wide and sizable. He closed his eyes and remembered how he had been hosed down by cool air in Malik's office when he had been sweaty. Even though it did little to help decrease his body temperature, that air surely came from _somewhere_. And Malik surely did not have a fan in his office; it was too tacky, and Malik was most definitely not a tacky man. He was anything but shoddy.

That only meant one thing then: Malik's room had an air duct as well. And that air duct was surely connected somehow with the one in the washroom. Altaïr knew what he had to do.

He wasted no time in locking the door to the washroom, using an old trick he had learned to lock and unlock doors without the key. Looking around, he searched for a platform, any type of platform. It didn't matter, he needed one pronto.

His eyes locked onto a certain object lying on the floor. The wastebin. He grabbed it, swiftly flipping it over, not caring that the contents spilled all over. He fingered his car keys, pulling them out. They would be at their most useful state since he'd gotten them just a couple of months ago. He'd put those _Volkswagen_ keys to test, see if they really were worthy of being called _Das Auto_.

He knew height wasn't the problem; he was lanky enough to reach the duct. Any other person would just have tough luck, but Altaïr was a lucky man. He felt like the luckiest person on Earth. Stepping on the wastebin-turned-platform he stood on the toes of his feet, trying to keep his balance while simultaneously extending his rangy, muscular arms upwards. Volkswagen key in hand, he held the key by the base, the sharp tip pointing upwards like a knight holding his most treasured sword. Successfully penetrating the one of the two screw head's latching the duct shut, he initially applied a slight pressure while twisting. Eventually he was applying all his force, twisting and turning the screw this way and that. After toiling away, the screw came loose.

The stars must have been in the correct position. Altaïr was a lucky man.

He shakily removed the screw, now working on the second screw trying to get the job done as soon as possible. After a couple of minutes, the alternate screw was loose as well. He grabbed the iron mesh guarding the duct's entrance, preventing it from falling and causing a commotion. He now extended his arms upward into the black abyss. Without a second thought he practically leapt in, jumping up on his heels slightly. His arms grabbed the edge of the duct. He lifted himself up with ease, the perks of being a former Navy SEAL, and eventually huddled himself together in the duct. It was made of a strong metal, he trusted it enough not to break. It was small and cramped, but Altaïr regretted nothing.

Grinning to himself he made a mental map in his mind. If the bathroom was here, and he came from the front desk there, and Malik's office was a couple rooms, twists, and turns behind it then...

 _Voilà_. Altaïr already knew where to go. He prided himself with the silly thought of knowing that he'd make a great GPS. Smirking, he began to crawl towards the direction of Malik's office, trying to stay quiet at the same time.

He was so close.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * This chapters title, " _Ita propinquus_ ", means "So close" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-4 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t0=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f1=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t1=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f2=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t2=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f3=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t3=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=4)
> 



	5. Præcipuus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was _so_ wrong but it was _so_ right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been working on a couple of things, first thing being:
> 
> [A concept collage of Malik's office](http://i50.tinypic.com/29vyoop.jpg)!!1! Yeah, _I own none of the images_ , but as I've said some time ago, I am a visual person. I imagine Malik's office would be classy and modern and just plain outright chic and cool. Like, how [this would be his work desk](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bg4wYl-w5Wc/TcgYumlAlRI/AAAAAAAAANo/Pe0lROEbK2s/s1600/modern-home-wood-office-furniture-collection2.jpg) and [this could be where he does the therapy sessions](http://content.luxology.com/gallery/e7a303c4d3a508d592b5746a8d90260c.jpg), in the front of the room (his desk is in the back).  
> Oh yeah, and if anyone is curious as to why I even bother with the visuals, is because I like it when readers see physical places (e.g. buildings, offices, etc.) from my perspective.

" **If I were to write the story of my life, I would shock the world.** "

_Bang_.

A loud noise suddenly awakened Malik from his much needed slumber. He hadn't even realised that he had fallen asleep until he looked down and... oh.

His work papers had become his pillow. He groaned and scratched his head groggily. Many other pieces of parchment surrounded his desk, decorating the floor en masse. Malik rubbed his eyes.

Surely he'd pick them up later... after he found out what in the fuck made that obnoxiously clamourous noise. It sounded as if someone hit their head against a wide, hollow metal object. The sounds echoed and reverberated before it became deathly silent.

Malik slowly stood up and looked around. He began to walk around the room, thoroughly inspecting it for any signs of life with the exception of his own. He could've sworn that he heard soft scraping sounds, but maybe he was going delusional. He walked to his desk and sat down again. Glancing at his watch he figured that it was a quarter before ten and—

 _Holy shit_ it was a quarter before ten in the eventide. He was supposed to be home hours ago; not that being home at a specific time mattered, but his _five-year-old baby brother_ did quite matter. He was suddenly wide awake, praying that he didn't accidentally burn the house down during his absence or harm himself in any way or form. Malik couldn't afford losing the kid, and he didn't mean that in an economical sense. Kadar was the only kin of his, the only one who shared his blood. He couldn't lose the kid, let alone anything happen to him.

Malik stood up for what felt like the umpteenth time and began to make his way out the door when he remembered that Kadar, his baby brother, was sleeping over at a friends house.

Well, that certainly cleared things up.

Malik would still SMS the kids parents to see if everything was alright, which he did. They replied, and said that everything was fine. Sighing a breath of relief, he sat himself back down.

 _Now_ , _about those papers_...

" **Wake me up from my sick dream,**  
 **A requiem for this dead scene.** "

Altaïr grinned and slowly wet his lips. He didn't know how he came up with such a brilliant idea, but he deserved some souvenirs. He had watched that gorgeous bastard sleep for who knows how long. He figured probably a couple hours, give or take; time went by real quick whenever he was around Malik. He savoured every sigh and soft groan Malik breathed in his repose, saving it all on his phone; well, he had to keep a memento, so why not record it? It had taken all his will not to break the wretched vent, carry the sleeping man to a couch, and cuddle him while being draped under a thick quilt.

Altaïr chuckled at the beautiful visuals forming behind his eyes, eventually getting reckless and hitting his head against the air duct caged around him in the process.

 _Bang_.

Altaïr froze. Holy shit, what had he done? He looked through the vent of the duct and watched as his therapist stirred in his sleep, suddenly awake within a matter of seconds. If that was how Malik woke up every single morning, Altaïr would sure as hell sell his Goddamn _soul_ within a heartbeat if he had the fortuity of seeing _that_ every single morning. Altaïr's grip on his phone, still recording, tightened.

He grinned lazily, watching an obviously confused and dazed Malik look around in bemusement. Fuck, why the hell was he _so cute_? Was it even possible to be _that_ cute?

No, Altaïr had decided, because Malik was much too superior to even be compared to an average human. It was not possible for a human being to be that cute.

Malik made a soft noise and tousled his already disheveled and unkempt hair. Altaïr imagined sifting his fingers through those fine locks, twisting and tugging and twirling, with two dark, glowing orbs looking up at him dreamily.

Nope. Altaïr was done. Yet he still kept his eyes glued on the man.

Malik decided to stand up, and Altaïr had to shift in position so that he and his phone could better see him. Malik, at that point, seemed incredibly wary and suspicious. He began to walk around, touring and surveying around the entire office.

It was then that Altaïr had realised that, Damn, Malik's derrière was glorious.

Keeping the newfound appreciation in mind, Altaïr's reverie's drastically transitioned from innocent cuddles to a very much unclad Malik, face-down, biting down into his pillow, synchronously making all sorts of beautiful squeals and moans and whimpers and shouts and any other magnificent sound in between. Altaïr would be aback, savouring every delicious sound Malik produced. The sight would be just as enticing, with Malik making a spectacle of himself, weakly corroding the pillow, face-down, arse up. Altaïr's hand would crack against that firm swell of flesh, and Malik would moan like a whore. Only in that instant would Altaïr treat Malik based on the way he was acting, and he would be acting like a common harlot. With his hands on the others' hips in a bruising grip, Altaïr would roughly thrust in and out, rolling his hips in the process. Altaïr would shag him senseless. He liked to imagine that Malik was a howler, and that he'd be screaming and moaning Altaïr's name on the top of his lungs like it was a mantra, his mantra, as if was the only thing he knew. The fantasy was imbed intensively into his mind, the image's popping up anytime he closed his eyes. Altaïr would gladly close his eyes for all eternity, but for now the real thing was better than his fantasies.

He opened his eyes and watched as Malik began to walk farther away, out of Altaïr's reach. Altaïr tried to follow his direction, but, alas, there wasn't a vent everywhere.

Much to his relief, after a couple of minutes Malik returned, walking back to his desk and sitting back down. The man barely so much as glanced at his watch before he abruptly stood up again, tension clear as daylight in his posture.

What was wrong?

Altaïr felt compelled to go down there and comfort him, but he forced his instincts not to take over.

At this point, Malik's eyes were wide open and his mouth was slightly agape, looking completely and utterly horrified. For what reason, Altaïr wasn't so sure. He hoped Malik wouldn't leave.

Dread soon filled Altaïr as Malik hurried towards the door, but then he froze. Did Altaïr have magical powers or something, that he could command Malik whenever he pleased? He'd sure as hell enjoy that. Just thinking about it made his mouth water. He shut his eyes, the explicit images forming in his mind again, and he licked his lips. Perhaps he just had the best of luck; yeah, that seemed to be it. His entire life was just a mere chain of fortuities, because how else did he make it out of that accident and coma alive? Altaïr opened his eyes again.

Malik sat down and sighed, looking down drearily. Albeit his mood had darkened, at least he didn't leave. Altaïr would have to break through the damn vent and sprint after him if he did. Being a former Navy SEAL, he had learned a lot of things from the experience; one of his strength's was tracking and pursuing people. He might as well have been a fucking professional bounty hunter, he had always succeeded in tracking suspects. Why would it be different with his therapist? Well, other than the fact that he wouldn't, and would never want to, kill him. Not in an infinite amount of years would he allow such a thing to happen.

 _Never_.

He continued watching Malik arrange his papers.

" **Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.** "

A couple more hours must have passed, but Altaïr still wasn't tired. He was only getting started. Malik seemed to be suffering from the opposite effect, constantly yawning and rubbing his eyelids. Altaïr had found it endearing.

By then, Altaïr captured hours of film on his phone, and a seemingly endless amount of photo's with Malik being the main, and only, subject. Altaïr wasn't satisfied nor was he content. He still craved. More.

Malik stood up, legs wobbly as if they were made of Jell-O. He looked as if he hadn't slept in eons. Altaïr felt grief wash over him for the second time, but he assured himself that he'd find another way to be with Malik—

A dull thud interrupted his fantasies. Altaïr didn't hear the reassuring shuffling of Malik's feet. He tried to see what had happened, but was unable to see anything from the angle he was set up in; Malik was too far for him to see.

Grief was soon replaced with panic and, wasting no time, Altaïr kicked the orifice of the vent until the thing broke off. Altaïr smiled triumphantly; once a SEAL, always a SEAL. He swiftly jumped out the air duct, rolling upon the ground's contact to break and soften his fall. He looked all over the familiar room; he had been here only a couple of hours ago. His eyes zeroed in onto a limp figure sprawled out onto the floor. Altaïr practically flew across the room to help accommodate Malik who had apparently passed out due to lack of sleep. It was evident from the crescents hanging beneath his eyes, his frowzled appearance, and that tranquil, peaceful expression on his face.

Altaïr stood there, hovering above the unconscious body of his therapist, for what had seemed like half a century until he decided to kneel down. He lifted a wobbly hand, initially uncertain. He then murmured, "To hell with it," and proceeded to run his shaky fingers through the densely matted hair. He lightly twisted and twirled his digits in the thick hair, watching it slide off his fingers. Altaïr was amazed. The hair felt like the finest silk, and he continued caressing the unwitting man's hair.

Eventually his concern over Malik's well-being gave into himself, and he scooped the sleeping chap up in his arms with ease. He watched as Malik's head was rolled back, exposing a smooth, bare neck. Altaïr thought of it as a blank canvas, and as any other canvas, it needed to be filled; it couldn't be left void. Altaïr wanted to decorate it, mark every single spot that he came upon, mark Malik as his so that the world knew that Malik was _his_ , and nobody else's.

Altaïr moistened his lips and opted to carrying his therapist to one of the couches, not keeping his eyes off the figure cradled in his arms for even a second.

Altaïr would cherish this.

He gently set Malik down onto one of the couches, trying not to wake him up. His efforts paid off, and Malik was still dreaming by the time he was on the couch. Altaïr looked at him adoringly, then looked around the room for something to keep him warm. He found a coat somewhere, and he gracefully covered Malik shoulder-down with the coat; It would be a sin to cover such a strikingly magnificent face.

He kneeled next to the sleeping figure, toying with his hair while gazing at that flawless face of his. He wanted to do this forever, but he knew that it would be best to leave before the lad woke up. Awkwardness would be sure to ensue.

Altaïr sighed.

He stared at the others' lips before lowering himself down. He nimbly pressed his lips against those of his sleeping therapist's. After a minute or two he pulled away.

Fuck, but his lips were _so warm_. It would be a shame to abandon a perfectly warm and full pair of lips, Altaïr's head shouted. Yeah, they were extraordinary, beyond exceptional, but it'd all be lost if Malik somehow woke up. He'd hate Altaïr forever, and would want to avoid him at all costs. Altaïr would be forced to opt to stealthy tactics to be with the man, and even though it was satisfying it still wouldn't be able to fulfil his animalistic hunger and craving. As a matter of fact, it would only add fuel to the fire. Altaïr would seek solace, only to receive none knowing full and well that he'd never be able to have Malik, to taste him, to shag him, to lick him, to hear him, to do or have anything to do with him. Altaïr would rather spend seven eternities in the burning depths of hell than have to ever endure such a horrendous and cruel penalty.

Altaïr checked his phone, and saw that it was well over two in the morning.

He snapped a couple of pictures of Malik, and found Malik's phone, sending a text to his own phone so he could have Malik's number. Only after pressing a tender kiss to the chap's forehead, lips, and nose's apex did he finally exit.

Walking back steadily, he kept his eyes on the sleeping adonis.

Grabbing the doorknob, he twisted and gracefully leapt out. He peered inside, the steady form of a sleeping Malik greeting his sight.

Altaïr smirked and gently closed the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, " _Præcipuus_ ", means "Extraordinary; Special" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-5 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t0=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f1=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t1=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f2=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t2=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f3=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t3=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f4=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t4=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=5)
>   * [Concept collage of Malik's office](http://i50.tinypic.com/29vyoop.jpg), along with each individual picture (in the collage) listed down below:
> 

>   1. [Img 1](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bg4wYl-w5Wc/TcgYumlAlRI/AAAAAAAAANo/Pe0lROEbK2s/s1600/modern-home-wood-office-furniture-collection2.jpg)
>   2. [Img 2](http://www.weinteriordesign.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/25-Modern-Home-Office-Design-with-Cool-and-Unique-Furniture.jpg)
>   3. [Img 3](http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3322/3479736825_aac1afb3ae.jpg)
>   4. [Img 4](http://oliveryaphe.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/JosephDirandArchitecture.png)
>   5. [Img 5](http://content.luxology.com/gallery/e7a303c4d3a508d592b5746a8d90260c.jpg)
> 



	6. Laboraverat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it was because Malik was too clever...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm serious, I don't even know what the hell this chapter was.
> 
> ~~Then again, I listened to a glorious song probably influenced by crack.~~

" **People never notice anything.** "

Malik woke with a soft grunt.

When he realised that he was laying down, back-up and covered by a coat shoulder-down he nearly jumped out of the sofa he was lying on.

 _Whoa_.

Since when was he a sleepwalker? And since when did he bother lying down upon the sofa? He was supposed to be labouring away, not sleeping like some Goddamn diva; he was almost done with that crap, anyway.

Practically jumping off the couch he aimlessly walked around, searching for his phone. He found it right next to the nap-place where he just woke up, laying on the floor. Initially, Malik paid no heed to the odd place where he found his phone. Only after realising that he last used his phone to text the parents of Kadar's friend did he remember that he did not place it anywhere near the sofa. Hell, he didn't even touch the sofa.

Malik found it rather peculiar, and he tried to recall his memories on what exactly had happened.

OK, so he did his sessions with his patients and stuff, blah blah blah, Leo asked him to go eat out with him and friends but Malik declined because of his work, and then he spent the rest of the time burning his fucking eyes out with those papers. He swore he'd go mad if he ever saw another letter of the Latin Alphabet.

So then how _did_ he get to the sofa?

Malik squeezed his eyes shut and dug deeper. He was literally only sitting. Then he heard some noises and he stood up to inspect the room, which was completely empty. He sat back down, but the noises didn't cease. They ended after a couple of minutes. Then Malik started to worry about Kadar, and nearly left but then he remembered that Kadar was at a friend's house in the nick of time.

Cue the mobile, which Malik had only used to SMS the parent's of Kadar's friend. After that, he worked for a while, probably a couple of hours, give or take. His memories were rather fuzzy following the incident. He remembered walking towards the door, and that was where it ended. He couldn't remember anything else. Malik had the feeling that something very suspicious had happened, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.

Mayhap he was just dreaming, and in reality he didn't do any work at all?

Malik trudged over to his desk to inspect, but upon seeing the parchment he saw that a lot of them, the majority of them, were complete. So it had been real?

But then why did it feel so surreal, so superficial?

Malik walked back to the sofa area, but only a couple steps into his journey did he stumble upon something he deemed very much _bizarre_. Even bizarre wasn't the proper word for his discovery.

Malik kneeled down to pick up the dented opening of an air vent.

" **How he longs for you to long for him once more.** "

Altaïr wasn't sure how many times he had watched that lengthy video of Malik doing, well, Malik-y things. His phone gave him a three-digit number, but Altaïr was pretty sure he didn't watch it _that_ many times. It barely felt like he even watched it once.

He sighed and watched the Greek God indite words, phrases, and sentences upon those various clusters of vellum surrounding him like a swarm of bees. Those pixels making up the Malik on his phone had nothing on the real, authentic therapist of his. Phone-Malik already looked like a deity, but the real Malik put fucking supermodels to shame.

It had only been hours since Altaïr's departure; by now Malik should have been wide and awake. Altaïr yearned and craved for his voice. He wanted to hear Malik speak.

Mind made up, he finished the video and went through his Contacts. He had a lot of numbers saved on his phone, but he didn't give a crap about half those fucking people. The only person whom he really cared about was this one lad saved in the 'M' section of his Contacts.

That one guy and Altaïr both shared the same phone models; an iPhone. Altaïr was hoping that since Malik and Altaïr both had iPhones, it'd somehow help in strengthening their relationship. Not that they had much of one, anyway. Malik only saw Altaïr as a mere patient, nothing else.

But Altaïr?

Altaïr saw so much more.

He saw more than just a therapist, more than just a psychologist.

He saw paradise.

Altaïr tapped a '*67' into Malik's number before calling. He was only hoping that Malik wouldn't '*69' him, otherwise his cover would be blown. But, he wouldn't be complaining if Malik 69'd with him.

Altaïr tapped the green 'call' button.

" **It's funny. All you have to do is say something nobody understands and they'll do practically anything you want them to.** "

Right when Malik was going to get a Goddamn epiphany or some shit, holding the dented opening of the vent up in the air like it was fucking Simba himself, Malik's phone started vibrating.

 _Dammit_.

Why? So what if he looked like some dude from CSI, observing the evidence like it was the answer to life?

Malik grumbled and reached for the iPhone.

"Good afternoon, this is Dr. Al-Sayf speaking," Malik said, trying to sound as pleasant and professional as he could.

He received silence, but he knew that someone was listening. The caller seemed hesitant.

"How may I help you?" Malik added, trying to coax the dolt to the get to the fucking point so he could hang up and continue on with his sleuthing and hypothesising.

Malik heard the sharp intake of breath before he heard, "Is this Dr. Al-Sayf?"

It was a male.

Malik was vexed. He had literally _just_ introduced himself, hell, it was the first fucking thing he said. And then the idiot had the audacity to ask him whether he was himself. "Yes, Sir," Malik said, through grit teeth.

"As in, the Doctor?" the man asked.

"Yes," Malik murmured, not even bothering to be polite.

"The therapist?"

"Yes," At this point, Malik was fucking done.

"And the psychologist-to-be?"

After a brief pause Malik answered. "Yes."

"What's the difference?"

Malik had enough. "Look, Sir, I am a little busy at the moment."

"But this is important."

"Of course," Malik muttered. "How so?"

"I work for the government."

"Oh, wow. Are you going to arrest me now?" Malik retorted dryly.

"Look, this is some serious shit."

"Yes, of course. You can find the answers to your serious shit on Google, right?"

The man laughed as if Malik had said a joke. "No," he said a little too seriously after his light-hearted chuckles had ended.

Malik rolled his eyes. "Do I know you?"

Frankly, the voice over the phone had sounded vaguely familiar, as if Malik had met him, or heard him, before. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Malik had barely finished his sentence when the voice decided to reply a bit too promptly, "Of course not."

"OK yeah, no," Malik said. "Well, it's been nice talking to you and all, but I have shit to do. Have a nice life."

Malik heard the man protest, saying, "No, wait—" but he was cut off when Malik hung up. Malik sighed and placed his phone far from his reach.

Fucking trolls.

Now, what the fuck was he thinking about, again?

" **It was the anti-septic to the sore,**  
 **To hold you by the hand.** "

Altaïr was fatigued. Even trying to get within a fucking ten mile radius of his therapist was exhausting work. But that mattered not, he'd only find another way.

Just hearing Malik's voice was refreshing enough, but he knew that he couldn't call again, else Malik would get suspicious and eventually find out the caller's identity.

Altaïr couldn't let that happen.

It was times like these that Altaïr was happy that Ezio was gone. Not that he hated him, but he didn't need the Italian to bug and pester him. Especially not when it came to Malik. Malik was _his_ , and his _only_. He wasn't fucking sharing.

Alright, heading back to that tanned divinity. Altaïr knew that calling Malik was out of the question. He didn't even know what the fuck he was saying the entire time, Malik's mere voice causing him to spurt and blabber crap that made no sense. He still appreciated the fact that Malik had at least humoured him... a bit. He saw the eventual hanging up coming, though. Snarky man.

So, then, now what? The entire day had flown by, and it was already dusk.

Altaïr immediately stood up and grabbed a new hoodie. He changed into a fresh pair of jeans.

He had always wanted to know how Malik's abode looked like.

Now was his chance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, " _Laboraverat_ ", means "Fatigued" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-6 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t0=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f1=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t1=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f2=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t2=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f3=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t3=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f4=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t4=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f5=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t5=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=6)
> 



	7. Melatonin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some _Melatonin_ would do the trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, long chapter! I'm not going to lie, some stuff in here is rather creepy... but I tried not to make it _overly_ creepy by incorporating some fluff! Like how Altaïr meets someone (who isn't Malik) and is basically all like, "Aww!"

" **Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.** "

By the time Malik decided to leave his office it had been well past eight in the eventide.

Altaïr practically sprang inside his Volkswagen once he finished changing, veering towards Malik's office. It was there where he waited, silently, in his car, for Malik to appear out the tall, modern building. He wasn't sure when exactly Malik had decided to appear out the building, he just knew that it was past eight, but the moment he did Altaïr didn't keep his eyes off him, scanning him thoroughly. He watched as he entered his own car, a BMW.

Malik had a good taste. In cars.

Altaïr didn't know how Malik tasted, but in time, he supposed. Besides, Malik probably did taste good.

Soon, the BMW started and Altaïr knew that it was his cue to go. He had the license plate of Malik's car memorised as good as the back of his hand in case he lost track of the car; of course, that wouldn't happen. He wouldn't let it happen.

Only after the BMW backed away from its parking spot and entered the road did Altaïr finally budge from his spot.

And so did the Volkswagen trail the BMW.

" **Qui audet adipiscitur.** "

Had Altaïr not known what he was doing, he probably would have been caught. Keeping himself at a surreptitious distance from the BMW, he ultimately found himself outside the gates of a large apartment complex. It wasn't one of those shabby, ancient complexes. The building was tastefully done and designed, tall and about forty stories high, give or take. Several other buildings and skyscrapers surrounded the structure, successfully making up a gorgeous skyline. Against the dark abyss of the vesper, the scene looked like something out of a postcard.

Altaïr sat in his car, admiring the sight, before promptly parking the car in the grass right outside of the gate. Since he didn't know the passcode to the gate, he might as well do it the old-fashioned way.

Altaïr got out his car, locked it, snagged his keys, and ran towards the enclosures surrounding the property. They weren't very high, but at the same time they weren't diminutive enough for just _anyone_ to jump over. Had they been overly high, it would've looked more like an extremely luxurious prison.

Altaïr was gangly enough to loop his hands over the enclosure, holding on tight. He then pulled himself up with all his might. His muscles ached in protest, but it was either now or never. Using that as an incentive, Altaïr successfully made his way over the fence, into the property. He gave himself a mental pat-on-the-back for making it inside without being noticed; Malik was still punching in the passcode.

Just how long was the fucking passcode?

Altaïr patiently kneeled in the dark, as if that would make him any less obvious; the sombre murk of the evening swallowing Altaïr entirely. Albeit the lights of the city's night-life were bright and neon, they didn't help in revealing his figure.

Altaïr was grateful for that.

After what seemed like a couple of minutes, the BMW slipped inside the aperture produced by the opened gate. Altaïr watched it make its way inside a garage. Once it reached the orifice of the garage, Altaïr slithered out of his hiding place and sprinted towards the garage, occasionally stopping behind an object of some sort, be it a shrub or a car, to stay discreet.

Fortunately, the garage was only one-story high, and there was an ample amount of space for Malik to park his car. He parked his car, got out, and walked towards a door on the side of the inside of the building. Altaïr assumed that the garage was the Ground Floor, the Lobby was right above, and the apartment rooms were on the stories above that of the Lobby.

Watching Malik twist the door open and enter, Altaïr followed his example minutes later... after he was sure that the man wasn't aware of his presence.

Altaïr tugged down the hood part of his hoodie, casting somewhat of a shadow over his face, hiding his features. He didn't need Malik knowing it was Altaïr who was trailing him. Albeit he dreaded it, yet looked forward to it, Altaïr knew that he'd eventually have to get on the same exact elevator as Malik to get to his floor; besides, how else would he know the floor which Malik resided on? There were over forty floors!

He glanced towards the direction of the elevators, where Malik was standing. Though he wanted to stare more at Malik, rather than merely glance, he soon found himself thanking the heavens above, as there couple also waiting to enter the elevator. That meant that it wouldn't only be Malik and Altaïr alone, in an elevator.

Truth be told, Altaïr really liked the idea. The only thing was that he might, somehow, invoke suspicion.

He frowned and begrudgingly stared at the ground, pulling the hood down lower. Once he heard the _ding_ of the elevator, and the shuffling of a people, Altaïr made his way towards the elevator. A large group of people scuffled out, providing an ample amount of distraction for Altaïr to slip in; Malik hadn't noticed. The poor lad was much too exhausted to even notice anything.

Altaïr watched the woman press a button to choose which floor she and her accomplice were going to, but Altaïr paid the most amount of attention to the floor which Malik chose: the twenty-first floor.

Altaïr kept the number branded in his mind.

 _Twenty-one_ , _twenty-one_ , _twenty-one_...

He mentally repeated the number over and over and over again.

He could _not_ , and would _not_ forget the number. It was much too important.

The doors of the elevator soon shut within a matter of seconds.

Ascending further and further above the ground, the couple were the first to go. Altaïr wasn't sure which floor they _exactly_ departed on, he was too busy trying to keep the number twenty-one and Malik's name tied together. Not that he had a shitty memory, but after the accident his mind just hadn't been the same. He forgot things at random, his head pounded occasionally, and numerous other oddities.

Well, alright, maybe it _was_ safe to say that he had shitty memory. But that wasn't always the case.

 _Ding_.

Malik stepped out first, then Altaïr. Altaïr pretended to go to the opposite direction of Malik, but once he was far enough he peeked behind. Malik wasn't looking at him, or in his direction. Altaïr dashed back to Malik's direction. He hid behind the corner of a wall, peeking out, watching. Malik was still walking in a wearisome manner. It was evident in his gait.

After doing this for about a minute or so, Malik finally reached his room. He fumbled out for his keys, and unlocked the door soon after. Altaïr watched as Malik entered, only to come running out no more than ten seconds later. Malik was running towards the direction of the elevator, and Altaïr was practically a road-block in his way.

 _Shit_.

Thinking fast, Altaïr ducked and successfully hid underneath a table embellished with a large vase containing a colourful orchid. Malik had obviously not noticed Altaïr at all, as he kept running. Altaïr had managed to obscure under the table before Malik even made it around the corner, so Malik probably wouldn't have noticed, unless he'd actually been attentive, which he clearly was not.

Either way, Altaïr was thankful for the distraction.

Once making sure that Malik was completely gone, he made his way towards the door which Malik just exited from. It was slightly ajar, clearly indicating that Malik was soon to return.

Altaïr entered without a second though.

" **Puris omnia pura.** "

Altaïr didn't know where or how.

One moment he was busy admiring Malik's apartment. It had luxuriously and tastefully been furnished, and the view from the balcony and window of the apartment was breathtakingly stunning.

The next thing he knew, he was staring into deep, blue eyes. Although the unknown guest was practically half his height he couldn't help but shiver. Those eyes were knowing, as if they knew who Altaïr was, and why he was there. It was even more of a surprise for Altaïr to realise that those eyes belonged to that of a child's. No more than five or six-years old, Altaïr figured.

He thoroughly scanned the child with his eyes, and vice-versa; the child returned the favour.

Altaïr noted the tanned skin, piercing gaze, thick and dark hair, long lashes, and full lips embodied upon the child. No doubt the kid was somehow related to Malik.

Altaïr kneeled down to meet the boy's height. "Hi," he whispered softly.

The kid didn't seem the slightest scared or intimidated. As a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. He suddenly broke into a huge grin. "Hey!"

Altaïr couldn't help but smile a little bit. He seemed like a huggable little kid.

"I'm Altaïr."

"I'm Kadar Al-Sayf, but you can call me Kadar," the boy said with much gusto. "Malik's my big brother."

Altaïr chuckled. That kid killed him. "Oh really?"

"Yep!"

Altaïr extended his arm, lightly ruffling the kids hair in a playful manner. Kadar giggled. The kid was so friendly, he didn't even bother asking what the hell Altaïr was doing in his apartment, let alone who he was exactly. It wasn't the fact that Kadar looked very similar to his older brother, nor was it the fact that he didn't murder Altaïr with an endless series of queries. It was the fact that the kid was so carefree and had such a bubbly personality. Altaïr had barely met him, but he adored the kid already. He found himself wishing that he, too, had a younger brother. Altaïr stood up.

There wasn't much to say between the two. Eventually, Kadar yawned and proclaimed that he was going to bed. Altaïr found this especially strange, because didn't little kids _hate_ going to bed? It was a child's worst enemy, yet Kadar embraced it like a friend with open arms.

Kadar sensed his confusion, and added, "I'm real tired," while yawning for emphasis.

Altaïr nodded.

Kadar wrapped a petite, chubby hand around Altaïr's large, toned one. Altaïr nearly flinched; he hadn't expected the kid to do _that_. He didn't mind at all, as it was comforting and Kadar had warm hands. Altaïr looked down at a grinning Kadar. He smiled back.

"Since you're Malik's friend, wanna see my room?"

Altaïr froze. The kid must have had a misunderstanding, as he thought that Altaïr was friends with Malik?

Hah, he wished.

If only he were _that_ fortunate.

Altaïr wanted to agree, but at the same time he desperately wanted to tell him that, No, he was barely even _acquainted_ with Malik. He didn't have the heart to lie to such a sweet kid, but he also didn't want the kids Goddamn sirens to go off.

"OK, but Malik _can't_ know that I'm here. It's supposed to be a secret, alright?" Altaïr said.

Kadar looked slightly befuddled. "Why do you wanna hide?"

"I'm not hiding," Altaïr replied. "It's supposed to be a _surprise_!"

Kadar slowly began to grin again. "Ohhhhh," he said in recognition. "You wanna surprise him, secretly?"

Altaïr nodded, smiling. Yes, but no. But yes.

"I promise I won't tell!" Kadar exclaimed. "I pinky-promise."

Kadar extended his pinky finger towards Altaïr. Altaïr looked at it.

Hell, he hadn't done that in _years_. The last time he ended up doing a pinky-promise was when he was six-years-old, and he ended up _breaking_ that one.

But, honestly, why the fuck not? This kid was too cute to deny, and he didn't want to break his heart by declining the friendly gesture.

Altaïr extended his pinky finger, smiling. Kadar grinned and intertwined their pinky fingers. They soon broke away, and Kadar grabbed his hand.

"You gotta see my room!" Kadar chirped.

Altaïr laughed. "But I thought you were sleepy!" he teased playfully.

Kadar pouted. "Not anymore I'm not."

Smiling, Altaïr allowed himself to be led by Kadar.

" **Amantes sunt amentes.** "

The closet was cramped, packed with toys and clothes _much_ too small for him. Altaïr didn't move a muscle, halting his breathing in fear of being caught.

Such shitty timing he had.

" _Tesbah ala khair_ , Kadar," he heard Malik utter. Through the shutters of Kadar's closet, he watched Malik plant a light, affectionate kiss to Kadar's forehead. Altaïr's envy for Kadar knew no bounds, but Kadar deserved it.

After all, it was thanks to him that Malik was completely unaware of Altaïr's presence. While Kadar was busy showing off his room, fully decorated with toys of all sorts, Malik returned. Before Malik could reach Kadar's room, Altaïr was herded inside of Kadar's closet to keep himself concealed.

Clearly, Kadar _had_ kept his promise.

Altaïr smiled.

"G'nite, Mal," Kadar mumbled. Poor kid could barely stay awake.

Malik tucked the comforter over Kadar, so that it covered him shoulder-down. Kadar shifted, cocooning himself within the mountain of blankets. Altaïr found it adorable.

Malik did too, as he smiled warmly and affectionately. Smiles from Malik were _extremely_ rare, yet Kadar had the honour of receiving them every day. The kid should feel privileged.

Malik walked towards the door of the room, and flicked the lights off. He stood there, watching Kadar get comfortable and prepare for sleep in his plush little bed. He left after a minute, gently closing the door half-way.

Altaïr stayed in the closet for about five minutes, just in case Malik thought that it would be OK to return to Kadar's room. Once he heard the splashing of water, he took that as a cue to get the hell out of Kadar's closet.

Altaïr walked into the kitchen. Kadar hadn't noticed him exit, for he was already fast asleep. Malik was taking a shower, according to the sound of running water, and he had apparently brewed himself a cup of tea. Altaïr stared at the cup, then he smelled it.

Jasmine tea.

Altaïr's eyes thoroughly examined the rest of the kitchen. He noticed the cabinets, and he opened each and every one of them. They contained generic items, such as cereal, glasses, plates, etc.

After opening the last cabinet, an idea formed in his mind.

The cabinet was filled with prescription and over-the-counter drugs, along with cough syrup and other health-related items. Altaïr eyed the Melatonin bottle. He snatched the bottle, opened it, and poured the contents inside his hand. They were barely the size of an M&M, and were rounded. He didn't know how many pills, or theoretically speaking, _tablets_ , he had poured, he just knew that it was enough to fill a large, clenched hand. Well, _his_ large, clenched hand.

After getting his dose of Melatonin, he walked back towards the steaming cup of Jasmine tea and dumped the pills within his clenched hand inside the tea. He watched as it dissolved within a matter of minutes.

He grinned.

Now Malik would have no problem falling asleep. After all, the man _had_ overworked himself, it was evident when he fainted whilst trying to walk towards the door. Altaïr was doing it for Malik's own good, the man deserved a Goddamn drop of sleep, which he'd definitely receive after imbibing his hot, steaming cuppa.

Altaïr smiled at the thought of a sleeping Malik. The last time he'd seen him sleeping was a day or too ago, and that was _way_ too long ago.

The soothing sound of running water ceased, and Altaïr knew that it was his time to fucking hide for his life. He sealed the Melatonin bottle, placed it in the cabinet where he found it, and ran off into a room which he assumed was Malik's. It was the Master Bedroom, and surely Malik slept in there. The room was also quite neat, a very prominent habit of Malik's. Extremely unlike the sloppy Altaïr.

Altaïr slipped under the bed in the room without a second thought.

He stayed quiet.

He heard the opening of the bathroom door, which surely must have been Malik. Altaïr frowned, mentally cursing himself for choosing to hide under the Goddamn _bed_. Why the fucking bed? Had he hidden in a closet, or anywhere else, he'd have had the privilege of seeing a half-unclad Malik, walking around with his exposed torso. Altaïr imagined beads of water running down his chest, like the cascading tears of a waterfall. Altaïr sighed at the thought. Only half a second later he stopped, reminding himself that he was in Malik's presence.

Malik didn't seem to notice, and trudged out the room.

Altaïr smiled; he had done so an umpty number of times.

About half an hour had passed, and Altaïr listened to the distinct shuffling of an obviously somnolent Malik. He turned off the lights to the room, slightly shut the door, and leapt upon his bed. Altaïr listened to Malik breathe, eventually faltering to a steady, rhythmic lullaby. Malik was about as dormant as a hibernating squirrel.

Altaïr listened a bit more, before deciding to slither out of his hiding place. He softly slid out from beneath the bed, composing himself into a kneeling position. He gracefully stood up, soon enjoying the view in front of him.

Malik was sprawled out, wearing a baggy pair of black sweatpants topped with a grey A-shirt. The comforter was twisted and tangled between Malik's limbs. One of his arms were outstretched, extending over his pillow while his other arm was parallel to the bed. His legs were splayed out. He slept rather sloppily, but that made it all the cuter for Altaïr.

Altaïr sighed.

Awkwardly walking towards the bed, he slowly got on. Once he was completely on the bed his hand shakily hovered over Malik's head. He didn't want him to wake up. After waiting for another ten seconds, he released his hand and allowed it to find its way in Malik's hair. He played with the thick, dark hair.

Altaïr then realised that he was kneeling in a tense, maladroit, uncomfortable position. He relaxed himself, sliding down on the side of his body so that he was chest-to-back with Malik. He aligned himself, so that Malik's head could fit snug, right under his chin like a puzzle piece. Altaïr exhaled, planting a kiss to the other lad's head. His other hand snaked around Malik's waist, possessively wrapping him in a firm, yet gentle embrace.

Malik's warm back immediately heated up Altaïr's torso. He couldn't tell if it was from physical contact, or from something else.

But why couldn't this, all of this, just be _real_? Why couldn't Malik and Altaïr actually be _together_? Altaïr knew that he'd have to leave after a while, and he wasn't looking forward to it. The amount of warmth his therapist radiated was unbelievable, and Altaïr wasn't ready to let go. He'd never want to let go.

Altaïr removed his fingers from Malik's hair, replacing the lost digits by burying his lips and nose while inhaling. His hair smelled clean, strong, of some cologne. Malik had apparently washed it while he was taking his evening shower.

Altaïr concluded that Malik smelled great. Wait, well, no. He smelled _perfect_.

If that even made sense. It made sense in Altaïr's head.

Altaïr's hand, which was denied access to Malik's hair and replaced by his nose and mouth, found a new place to touch, shifting towards the sleeping lad's breeches. Oh fuck, it was everything Altaïr had expected and more. He lightly cupped the flesh, grabbing and pressing. Albeit he knew that he'd never get tired, he eventually stopped. He still firmly kept his hand over the fondled area.

Malik mumbled out an endearing sound, something resembling a sigh and a giggle of some sort. He shifted slightly, then went back to being as still as a log. Altaïr smiled against his scalp, relocating the hand over his waist inside Malik's A-shirt, greeted by the warm skin of his torso. Altaïr pressed his lips to Malik's neck, littering kisses all around the area, occasionally moistening the skin with his tongue; no need to make his tongue feel left out. He lightly scraped his teeth over the dampened areas. Altaïr caressed Malik's torso, and then began to gently trace patterns onto his stomach with his fingers. He listened to his therapist's steady breathing as if it were his lullaby.

If only there was a pause button, so he could live in the moment forever.

He'd disable the play button.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-7 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t0=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f1=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t1=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f2=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t2=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f3=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t3=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f4=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t4=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f5=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t5=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f6=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t6=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=7)
>   * **Latin Translations**
> 

>   1. " _Aut viam inveniam aut faciam_ ," is Latin for "I shall either find a way or make one"
>   2. " _Qui audet adipiscitur_ ," is Latin for "Who dares wins"
>   3. " _Puris omnia pura_ ," is Latin for "To the pure all things are pure"
>   4. " _Amantes sunt amentes_ ," is Latin for "Lovers are lunatics"
> 

> 
> * **Arabic Translations**
> 
>   1. _Tesbah ala khair_ = Goodnight  
>   
>  Note that one could also opt to saying " _Nam jeyid_ ", as that means "Sleep tight"
> 



	8. Temporis præteritum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik is suddenly _very_ confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I fail in describing an MD's life. So I wanna elaborate a bit because I don't want to confuse anyone.
> 
> ✓ Malik is in his early twenties and already an MD.  
> ✓ He'll still be studying Psychology (to be a certified psychologist) as it goes hand-in-hand with being a therapist.  
> ✓ He's already a therapist, but he's still working on getting a Doctorate's (literally takes _years_ to acquire).
> 
> MD's have a lot of paperwork to do, too. Not as glamourous as _Grey's Anatomy_ or _House_ or _Nip/Tuck_. They need to fill out these _huge_ files from their patients they've seen with God-knows-what. I'm not sure what it is, I just see my father filling a billion thick files in with stuff. Probably diagnosis, symptoms, prescribed medication, or anything of that sort.

" **Well done is half begun.** "

The total amount of times the edges of his lips had pointed upwards to publicly display his pleasure and affection was unfathomable. He would have chuckled to emphasise his satisfaction, but that was a rather difficult feat as he was near a lad still swimming in his dreams, eyes closed and completely oblivious. After all, he wasn't even _in_ public, so it wasn't as if anyone knew of his contentedness.

He'd prefer to keep it that way.

At this point, it seemed as if his mouth had been congealed in a permanent grin. He couldn't help it, he was so happy it felt as if his heart would burst. When had he been _this_ excited? _Had_ he ever been this excited? Altaïr felt like a lucky bastard. Like _the_ luckiest bastard on the planet.

His gaze shifted back at the unconscious chap sprawled out next to him. Had he not had such a charming little brother like Kadar, Altaïr probably would have taken Malik home with him by now. But beggars also couldn't be choosers, he figured.

Altaïr placed a hand on Malik, successfully manœuvring him so that he'd roll over and face Altaïr, not the wall. Altaïr actually found himself growing jealous of the _wall_. Thank God for inanimate objects.

Altaïr's hand smoothed over Malik's hair, both eyes admiring the sight of his slumbering therapist. He had done so for the past couple of hours.

That Melatonin deserved all the awards.

Altaïr's hand crept towards the back of Malik's skull, gently pushing so that his face would near. Malik's cranium fit right beneath Altaïr's chin, and for the next couple of moment's Altaïr had the sheer delight of feeling Malik's warm breath brush against his neck. Altaïr buried his face in Malik's sleek, ruffled hair, hand still supporting the back of Malik's skull. He pressed kisses to the others' head, allowing the hair to titillate him. Slowly exhaling, he then tightened his grip defensively.

Malik was pleasingly warm.

His personal radiator.

 _All his own_.

Altaïr slipped his other hand, woefully solitary, inside of Malik's baggy sweatpants. He was greeted with a pleasant amount of fervour eradiating off the affected skin. He moved his hand around with a great amount of gusto, eventually coming upon the fabric making up Malik's boxers. Fucking cloth.

He fervently began to romp around with the waistband, digits tugging at it, stretching it, letting it slide off his fingers. The waistband lightly snapped against Malik's skin, causing no harm. Altaïr reiterated.

He grew bored of messing around with the waistband, and decided to loop his arm over the other's waist, still keeping his hand within the sweatpants. His hand slid over his sleeping therapist's rump, pulling him closer. Altaïr successfully made himself look like a greedy koala, clinging onto its eucalyptus tree for its dear life.

Altaïr sighed and shut his eyes only for half a second before he opened them again.

He was getting drowsy, but he'd only sleep after completing one final task. He wasn't going to rest until he let the world know that Malik was _not_ available to anyone. _Nobody_ could have or take him.

Altaïr tenderly lowered his lips onto the smooth, even skin of Malik's neck. Since Malik was facing Altaïr, Altaïr had full access to the side of Malik's neck. Extending his tongue, he relished the sapid taste of Malik's skin. Soon after, he hungrily began to nip and corrode at Malik's neck, growing increasingly feverish. He imagined Malik, moaning, compliant, and completely at his mercy. That only incited him more, each bite stronger than the last. It drew tiny, shallow whimpers from Malik who was probably feeling the jolts of pain through his slumber via his dream(s). Altaïr continued gnawing, producing more noises from the other. He eventually stopped, completely satisfied, after noting a large contusion beginning to form and darken. He lapped at the maltreated skin before pressing a series of gentle kisses as if he were apologising for his actions.

He tightened his hold onto Malik, and right before shutting his eyes he pressed a kiss to Malik's scalp, burying his face within Malik's hair.

He could get used to this.

" **That's the nice thing about carrousels, they always play the same songs.** "

Malik grunted and lifted himself off his pillow. His neck hurt like a _bitch_ , had he been sleeping in an uncomfortable and bad position again? He felt like an old man.

He stared at the half-open curtains in his room, shielding him from the intense rays of the sun. It was a bit too bright to be seven in the morning. Malik looked at his alarm clock on the nightstand near the side of his bed and _holy shit it was twelve in the fucking afternoon_.

How in the hell did he not hear his alarm clock that morning? He always heard the annoying buzz of that electronic demon. That thing was the spawn of satan himself. Malik hated his alarm clock, the piece of shit never let him enjoy the mornings of his weekdays, constantly reminding him that he had patients to see. So then why had it made an exception today? Was it feeling kind and generous? Or perhaps pitiful that it made Malik's morning a hell? Or was Malik to blame, as he had overslept?

Malik didn't want to admit it, but it probably was. He stayed up till late, forgetting to grab his briefcase filled with his patients files which he had to fill out. He filled them out while sipping on his Jasmine tea.

Who knew that being a fucking MD had so much _writing_ involved in it? His hands ached after finishing all those mountains of files. The morning was probably already premature by the time he finished that crap. He wanted to marry his Goddamn bed by the time he was done. Maybe it was because of that love and appreciation that he found himself sleeping within the moment he touched the bed. Well, he was also feeling pretty drowsy, so that might have helped as well. Then again, who doesn't feel drowsy after scribbling their arses off?

Malik sighed and reluctantly dragged himself off his bed, trudging towards the bathroom. He grabbed his toothbrush and a toothpaste tube, squeezing a line of toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He inserted the toothbrush into his mouth and looked up into the mirror, brushing all the while.

Suddenly, Malik nearly screamed and immediately spit out any object within his mouth, which happened to be toothbrush and liquefied toothpaste at the moment. The toothbrush clattered in the sink, pearly puréed toothpaste dripping off his lips, chin, and fingers. There was a vestige of the toothpaste on his white singlet, baggy sweatpants, and trails of toothpaste decorated the rim of his bathroom's sink, with one or two miniscule splotches on the mirror which he stared into with much disbelief.

There was a fucking bruise on his neck. And not just any bruise, oh God, _no_ because he wasn't _that_ lucky. Nope, it was a fucking _hickey_ the size of Siberia. Right there, on the side of his neck. A manifest hickey, naked as the day. No amount of concealer would hide _that_ _thing_.

But that wasn't the least of Malik's concern. He just wanted to know how in the unholy _fuck_ that monster got on _his_ skin. Obviously a human must have done that. Those scary monsters that 'lived' underneath beds or inside closets weren't horny bastards, were they? That would be pretty fucked up; no wonder Malik found them so terrifying as a kid. Kadar was still scared of them, but it was OK since he was only five—

Oh _shit_ , Kadar.

Whoever, or whatever had contused Malik's neck somehow must have come across Kadar, since Malik got it during his sleep. Kadar was in the apartment too, and if Kadar was gone Malik would probably flip a table, shoot someone, sob his eyes out, or possibly all of the above.

Malik covered the bruise on his neck with his hand. Then he sprinted towards Kadar's room, slamming the door open. Kadar was sitting on the floor playing with his toys. Kadar looked up, cerulean eyes and all, safe as ever.

Malik released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in. Thank God, for his prayers had been answered.

"'Morning, Mal," Kadar chirped with a huge grin, waving excitedly at his older sibling.

Malik smiled. "Hey, Kadar. Slept well?"

"Mhm," Kadar hummed, nodding his head vigourously.

"That's great," Malik said, smiling affectionately at his baby brother. He looked over at the blocks of Legos, puzzle pieces, and action figures surrounding Kadar.

"Hey, Mal," Kadar started, looking at Malik for approval. Malik nodded his head and Kadar continued. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Malik replied. "Ask me anything."

Well, _almost_ anything. There were some things that innocent five-year-olds didn't have to know about. Malik kept his musings to himself.

"Are you OK?" Kadar asked. After receiving a questioning look from Malik, Kadar quickly added, "'Cause you don't look so good."

"And why would you think that?" Malik replied. He was honestly curious how a _five-year-old_ , _his_ five-year-old brother, could tell that he'd had an insane morning... or, rather, _afternoon_.

"Well, your alarm clock woke me up. Then I realised that you weren't up and I tried waking you up but you wouldn't wake up even after I pinched you," Kadar admitted, looking sheepish.

Malik chuckled and ruffled the chap's hair. He was too cute. Malik loved his little brother with every ounce of his fucking _soul_. "It's OK. Thanks, Kadar."

"No prob, Mal! 'Cept, why're you covering your neck for?"

"It's _what are you covering your neck for_ , or _why are you covering your neck_ , Kadar," Malik corrected. He didn't need Kadar talking like peasant. Kadar nodded and Malik answered his question, albeit hesitantly at first. He didn't know how to phrase 'hickey' without using the stupid, gibberish baby-talk term 'boo-boo' either. His brother was five, but he wasn't dumb. "My neck is covered since there's a bruise there."

"Aw, Mal," Kadar exclaimed with a frown. "Wash it a lot 'cause if you don't you're gonna die."

Malik wanted to burst out laughing, but judging off the look on his brothers face, the kid probably wasn't trying to be funny. Some idiot at his school probably told him that. Kadar was incredibly gullible when it came to certain things.

"Sure thing, Doctor," Malik replied, ruffling Kadar's hair with a warm grin on his face.

" **Wit is educated insolence.** "

Malik had kept Altaïr waiting for about two hours, but the man did not seem to mind at all. As a matter of fact, he actually _encouraged_ Malik to start the session, regardless of the fact that he had wasted two hours of his life waiting for his obviously _very late_ therapist. Albeit Malik had apologised profusely, Altaïr didn't seem to mind one bit. Almost as though he had expected that to happen.

Right when Malik sat his patient down, Altaïr began to assail the colossal bruise on Malik's neck. Malik felt himself growing red, face heating up. Stupid fucking button-up shirt didn't hide the hickey.

"What's that?" Altaïr asked. Malik glared at him and he grinned.

"A bruise," Malik murmured.

"How'd you get it?" Altaïr added, smirking slightly.

Malik huffed. "I don't know."

Altaïr thought it would be appropriate to scoff. "How the hell do you get such a big _hickey_ , and then you don't know how you got it, huh?" Malik turned even redder and Altaïr took that as a sign to continue. "Someone been necking you?" Malik leered at him and Altaïr raised his hands in the air as if he were the innocent one. "I'm just saying. But you could tell me, I won't judge."

Malik narrowed his eyes, and repeated, "I don't know," Altaïr looked surprised but Malik carried on. "Nobody necked me, and I don't know how I got the contusion. What does it matter to you, anyway?"

"Ah, nothing personal. Just concerned about the well-being of my therapist," Altaïr responded cooly, looking Malik dead in the eye.

Malik didn't think his face could turn any more red than it already was.

" **I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance.** "

Altaïr's grin widened. He had gotten the right reaction from his victim. He wanted to see Malik grow red and get embarrassed. A blushing Malik was one of Altaïr's turn-on's. He was cute when he was embarrassed. Well, quite frankly, he was cute 24/7. Altaïr already went over that a billion times.

"I am glad and quite touched to hear that," Malik mumbled, awkwardly covering his bruise.

Altaïr snickered inwardly. Malik fucking killed him. No matter how hard he tried, the bruise Altaïr had masterfully graced upon Malik's neck wouldn't go away. But, of course, Malik was stubborn and determined. Altaïr liked that about him. It was, well, rather fetching.

Someone who could think with their own head and didn't have any fucks to give about what those other people thought. Altaïr thought that was quite an admirable trait. How many dottrel's had he met in his life who were scared of "saying the wrong thing(s)," or some crap of that sort? Surely it was a countless, possibly _infinite_ amount of people. Altaïr saw them all as cowards, but he knew he wasn't the most empathetic person either. But hey, it's either kill or be killed. Getting opinions and actions determined based on what those petty, judgemental bastard's thought could easily be the death of one, being manipulated like a mere marionette. After all, he was only trying to help; well, that was the way Altaïr saw it. He had no interest in being the Dr. Phil of those fools who had not heeded his advice and instead got hurt inflicted upon themselves.

Then again, how many people _had_ run to him for comfort?

Oh, right, _nil_.

Altaïr wasn't exactly the type of person who people would run to after experiencing serious emotions. Altaïr didn't care, though; he was grateful, to be honest. Less bitching and whining for him. His ears would bleed if he had to listen to people groaning and complaining 24/7.

He didn't know how Malik did it.

Being a therapist must have been a stressful job, especially considering Malik's young age. He looked like he was in his early, or at most, mid-twenties.

Malik shifted uncomfortably at the vigourous stare's Altaïr was giving him. At this point, he'd permanently be red-faced. Malik stood up and mumbled an excuse me, walking to retrieve his clipboard.

Altaïr evidently watched Malik walk, and Malik noticed albeit he pretended not to. Altaïr, however, was clever as he had noticed Malik purposely ignoring him. He smirked, feeling rather triumphant.

Malik returned and sat down again. He looked down at the clipboard in his hand, and he began to fill certain sections out, pen in hand. When he finished he announced, " _Altaïr_. I'm going to ask you a couple of questions. Please answer truthfully, and if you're uncomfortable or if you don't want to answer a question then, by all means, feel free to tell me. I won't mind skipping it. You don't have to answer all of them. However, I do ask for your cooperation. That is all I ask of you."

Altaïr nodded with much vim. Anything for Malik. He'd answer _all_ the questions honestly.

"Alright, first thing's first," Malik began. "Have you ever had a dream more than once?"

Altaïr pondered for a moment before remembering that he most certainly did. "Yes."

"What theme or theme's consistently repeated within your dreams?"

"War, things related to either the Navy, SEALs, or both," Altaïr began. He then thought how to phrase the next sentence correctly without giving anything away. No need to let the cat out of the bag. "And, um, a friend."

Altaïr wanted to die. Malik was literally anything _but_ a friend, as of now. Malik didn't even acknowledge him. Altaïr was merely a patient, nothing more and nothing less. He knew it wasn't Malik's fault but, strangely, it hurt him, somehow.

Malik jotted Altaïr's response's down before asking, "What would usually happen in those dream?"

Altaïr squeezed his eyes shut. Apparently Malik had taken that as a sign of distress, as he promptly added, "Remember, you don't have to answer it if you don't want to," but Altaïr was much too pertinacious to decline answering a question. Only _cowards_ did that. Altaïr sneered internally.

"It's fine," Altaïr admitted. "But a lot of the times I get nightmares about the terrible things I've done as a SEAL. I mean, I've had a lot more positive experiences as a SEAL than negative experiences, but I guess people only tend to reminisce and recollect privative events rather than any of their bountiful, joyful experiences. Gives them more to talk about, I guess," he shrugged. He looked over at Malik, nodding his head whilst scribbling down notes. Altaïr went on. "And as for the other one, well, I really can't call it a nightmare. I can't even call it a _dream_. It's more of a Goddamn heaven or paradise than anything else."

"And why so?" Malik didn't look up.

Altaïr smiled. "Because of this one person," ... _and he's sitting right next to me right now_. Altaïr kept that to himself.

Malik looked up and Altaïr noted a soft expression on his face. He couldn't tell if it was a smile or what. Altaïr realised it was a smirk slightly tainted with playful haughtiness. "Quick, random fact but seeing a friend in your dream can possibly signify rejected aspects of your personality which you're ready to integrate into yourself. It could also signify the relationships between you and those around you, as they're important in learning about yourself. Some superstitious people believe that seeing a friend in your dream will foretell good news and happy tidings, but that might not always be true."

Altaïr looked Malik in the eye and nodded, soon averting his gaze at the floor with a solemn smile on his face.

_But what if he's not a friend?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-8 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcijl50T0n1r4dzljo1.mp3#_=_&t0=8.%20%22Book%20of%20Revelation%22&f1=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t1=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f2=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t2=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f3=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t3=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f4=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t4=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f5=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t5=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f6=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t6=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f7=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t7=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=8)
>   * Chapter title, " _Temporis præteritum_ ", means "In the past/ Time in the past" in Latin
> 



	9. Te volo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik ponders whilst Altaïr assails. But opposites still do attract, _right_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello this is the part where I fucking fail as a human being.
> 
> I am disappoint.
> 
> I shall make up for it next chapter, and if I don't then I am going to forever live with the guilt of unfulfilled pledges. But hey, Ezio is back! ... Except he's not exactly how he's stereotypically portrayed (i.e. Just there, hungry for some ladies or the 'D' 24/7) albeit I like stereotypical!Ezio; humour usually ensues. He's a bit more, suave? Well, he's almost always suave, but hopefully you'll see what I mean. Oh, and one more thing: Leonardo did _nothing_ wrong, we've just got ourselves a case of jealous!Altaïr.

" **Rehearse steps on an empty stage.** "

"Your next appointment is in a week," Malik said, waving Altaïr away without looking up from his paper. Altaïr figured that he was apparently writing something so important that he didn't have the time to give Altaïr a glance or a hug or anything. That was alright, though. Sooner or later he would.

"Alright doc, been nice talking with you," Altaïr said with a grin on his face, moving towards the door.

Malik looked up from his paperwork and gave Altaïr a questioning look. Altaïr was glad that Malik looked up just for him, and that Malik took the time to grace him with one last look. Altaïr flashed a toothy grin, hiding his disappointment. That stupid Leonardo guy had interrupted their session _again_ and even though he only spent about five minutes Altaïr still found it a significant number. Why couldn't he talk to Malik later? Or, even better, why couldn't he _never_ talk to Malik? The idiot asked him for dinner. Again. Altaïr was the one who was supposed to be asking him to dinner, not some dim-witted blond!

Altaïr grabbed the doorknob and twisted.

"Cheers," Malik murmured, gaze falling back to the parchment before his eyes.

"Same," Altaïr whispered, stepping outside. He stared at Malik one last time before closing the door.

He felt as though he had just left Narnia.

" **Shadows are walking on the wall.** "

Malik lightly scratched his neck, cautious due to the bruise. So his Altaïr patient was gone. He released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. Was that a sigh of relief? No, it definitely wasn't. Of course not. Why would he be relieved to see a patient leave?

One part of Malik had a thousand and one reasons, and was tempted to list them all in alphabetical order. 

First off, he could relax. That equated to no complaining. No work. No talking. Nothing. Nada. Nothing except his blasted paperwork, but that crap could wait. Or maybe not. Malik grabbed a pen and then firmly grasped the patient file of Altaïr. He opened the folder and began to fill it in.

Well, that escalated quickly.

But at least it was peaceful and quiet. Another pro of being solitary in his office. Malik was the type of guy who appreciated the finer things in life. While his patients weren't extremely loud or noisy, he did favour his own presence over that of others. Well, most of the time. Albeit Malik was a rather reserved person, he was and always would be there for Kadar. He'd always find or make time for the kid.

But, to be honest, Malik didn't hate his job. It was nice. All that studying _did_ pay off, but that didn't mean that the studying would basically just end right there. He was but a neophyte therapist, still working on getting a Doctorate's! He had recently finished his internship, and was now working on becoming a Psychologist as well. The human mind and its strange ways fascinated Malik.

Human's are fucking _stupid_. That was something he figured a _long_ time ago.

Propaganda, corruption, celebrities and their gossip, stupid television shows, the Jersey Shore—the list was fucking endless! Now, whilst he wasn't one of those radical, conservative people— Hell, he wasn't even religious— he still found little reason to have faith in the future of humanity. The very thought of the sheer amount of ignorance bestowed upon the planet scared the living crap out of him.

Did the people of the twenty-first century even know what _books_ were?

Certainly only a blessed handful, he figured. That included himself. He liked books. Well, he loved knowledge and anything affiliated with it in general. One could never know too much, right? Because he wanted to know, know, know.

Whenever he picked up a book he could travel a thousand miles without moving a single step.

Except he preferred non-fiction over all else. But reading with a steaming cup of Jasmine tea appealed him to no end. Amalgamating that with rainy days sans thunder and lightning were a _major_ _bonus_.

He wasn't an extremely indoor-person either, he needed sunlight and human beings as much as the next person, but hey.

One must enjoy the finer things in life. Right?

That was something a lot of his patients should learn. Especially that Altaïr guy. Malik never said anything, but he had noticed a certain trait radiating off that guys persona. He always seemed hasty, as if it was his last day on Earth. Almost like he had somewhere he had to be, as if he were going to be late. Much like the White Rabbit from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

Malik scoffed.

That book was so fucking old, his teacher read it to him and his fellow peers in his early years of Primary School. And he was now an adult. Not that it was a bad book, but it just scared the hell out of him when he was a kid. A lot of things scared the hell out of him as a child. But the book didn't seem to creep Kadar out one bit. He actually thought it was a nice book.

Malik found it rather amusing how often his thoughts wandered around. Perhaps it was because he could get a little bit disorganised at times? Then again, he was _definitely_ the most organised person he knew—and that said something. Malik swore to himself that he was a living oxymoron. How could one be disorganised yet be so neat? Well, there definitely _is_ science behind it. Frankly, he was a bit of a neat-freak, but he didn't go completely overboard at the same time.

Perhaps another thing that Altaïr guy should learn: being fucking organised. Or, more specifically, getting his shit together.

He was constantly late.

Not that Malik cared, it was Altaïr's time being wasted, not Malik's. Well, truthfully, he _did_ care. Malik's time was getting wasted too. Stupid patient. He'd come late, then he'd start fawning over Malik like some Goddamn nine-year-old fangirl. But that wasn't why Malik felt slightly intimidated, or threatened within that guy's presence. Because Malik didn't get intimidated easily.

He just assaulted Malik with his fucking eyes. Constantly. It actually got _extremely_ uncomfortable after a while, but Malik couldn't do anything about it, no matter how creepy it got.

But Altaïr's eyes were odd. Or, perhaps, a tad bit interesting. They were a nice, feral shade of liquid-gold. At times they appeared to be almost animal-like. Might have developed from his years of being a SEAL. Except he wasn't very old. He was definitely in his early to mid twenties. He must have been a prodigy to get into the Navy SEALS program at such a young age.

But that wasn't what Malik found, well, unusual about him.

It seemed as though Altaïr was hiding something.

Not only that, but why did he act so... strange? Alright, yeah, he was exceptionally friendly and cheery and such, and Malik couldn't point a finger at every friendly person and declare them insane because that'd be pretty paranoid, but still. There was something about Altaïr.

Malik couldn't put his finger on it.

He had a nagging feeling before about Altaïr showing symptoms of something, and they were coming back again. Or, Malik was wrong perchance? He was still a neophyte, after all.

He sighed and closed the medium-sized folder. He twirled the pen between his fingers for a moment before returning it to its righteous place.

Leaning back in his swivel chair he closed his eyes.

" **I lose myself in flashing colours.** "

Altaïr didn't recall when he had been _this_ furious, but at the moment he didn't care to remember a thing. He just knew that he had to apply the mosquito repellant.

His grip tightened around an ivory jaw. He received a whimper in response.

"Stay the fuck away from him," Altaïr growled. Frightened azure eyes looked back. Altaïr simply grew angrier. He felt like wringing the idiot to the gates of hell.

"But I simply asked him to eat out with me," the blond squeaked.

Altaïr felt like someone literally set him on fire. "Shut the fuck up, you Goddamn whore."

"But I did nothing wrong, _amico mio_ —"

"Don't you fucking _amico mio_ me," Altaïr shouted, making a false, high-pitched mocking imitation of the other when quoting the Italian.

The blond frowned fearfully, managing to look scared, as if _he_ were the victim. He only ended up making himself look much younger than he was, almost like a five-year-old. Fucking mind-tricks of this idiotic, tawny Italian.

"You stupid, fucking—"

"Altaïr, what the fuck are you doing?" a voice called. Altaïr looked around and he remembered that he was in an alley of some random side-street. He then spotted a figure a couple metres away and _nearly_ let go of the stupid blond firmly held between his hands, but he knew he wasn't going to do it _that_ easily, at least not after what the idiot did.

The figure stepped closer and albeit he realised who it was, he still felt no remorse or embarrassment for his actions. "This dumb bitch keeps being a _pest_ ," Altaïr hissed. His grip tightened. The figure strode over and began to pry at his hands.

"Altaïr, _coglione_ , he's my fucking doctor," the brunet figure said. His grip on Altaïr's wrists were painstakingly tight, but his rescue attempt was successful. It seemed simple, but he knew that if he successfully applied pressure to the right parts of Altaïr's wrists it'd cause immense pain and the fool would release his 'captive'.

"Ouch, Ezio, I don't give a crap," Altaïr snarled, rubbing at his wrists. "What in the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

Ezio smirked. "It's so like you to pick a fight with _every breathing thing_ , but to pick a fight with Leonardo? That's like pouring water into the ocean. It's pointless," Leonardo flushed slightly. "Besides, I bet he didn't do shit."

"Just answer my Goddamn question," Altaïr grumbled, still prodding his wrists.

"I was looking for _mio amico_ ," Ezio announced, wrapping his arm around the shoulders of an obviously flustered Leonardo. "Leonardo."

"Yeah, of course, you totally knew he'd be here," Altaïr retorted dryly.

Ezio laughed, arm still wrapped around his blond doctor. "You're acting so casual, as if it is completely normal to brutally be attacking someone and then get caught red-handed in the process," He then shook his head as if he were in disbelief. "Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Clearly that therapy isn't working for shit."

Altaïr jerked a finger towards the blond. "Yeah, it's not working because this fucker keeps barging in every other moment," he scowled at a visibly frightened Leonardo, subconsciously moving closer to Altaïr's brunet friend.

Ezio looked at Altaïr as if he had said that he wanted to fuck his mother. " _Alright_ , well it looks like I'll be going; and I'll be taking this 'fucker' with me," Ezio announced, pausing briefly. He appeared to be pondering thoughtfully before adding, "Hopefully you'll be fucking _normal_ by the time I see you later since, clearly, you're fuming. Chillax, bro."

Ezio attempted to place a consoling hand on Altaïr's shoulder, but Altaïr slapped the hand away as if it were causing him harm. " _Calmare_ , _amico mio_ ," Ezio cooed.

"I'm not fucking angry!" Altaïr snarled, sneering at the brunet.

Ezio smirked. " _Sì certo_ ," he muttered, rolling his eyes. Why did Altaïr overreact over everything? Why was he so quick to anger? Ezio kept his thoughts to himself. He was perfectly capable of defending himself, but he didn't need an angrier Altaïr. An angry Altaïr was already more than enough. The hell was he angry for, anyway? Probably some trivial bullshit, like Leonardo looking at him funny or some crap like that.

Altaïr leered at Ezio and gave Leonardo the evil eye. He was satisfied that he at least had a visible effect on the blond who had been quiet the entire time. Good. He wanted to keep it that way. Hopefully he could stay quiet for the rest of his Goddamn life and never get anywhere _near_ Malik ever again.

Altaïr didn't get his point across to Leonardo with not talking to Malik ever again, but he wouldn't hesitate using more physical force, if necessary, if Leonardo ever did communicate more than one sentence with Malik.

But Altaïr was a reasonable fellow, so he made it two sentences, three if it was something really urgent. But, no more than twenty-five words. Or, _maybe_ even thirty. If it was a good day and Altaïr wasn't in a shit mood (which he was usually in 99.99% of the time, excluding the time spent around Malik). _Maybe_.

Ezio noticed Altaïr glaring at Leonardo, and hastily uttered a _Ciao_ to Altaïr before treading out the alley, dragging a hesitant Leonardo along with him. He had better things to do than to go to the hospital, especially since he had an armful of a cute, charming blond. But still.

Sometimes, Ezio worried about Altaïr. Nay, to say that was a mere _understatement_.

Altaïr worried Ezio indefinitely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, " _Te volo_ ," means "I want you" in Latin ~~as in I want food rn pls. Thank.~~
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-9 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2firznZ1R1r6jlaso1.mp3#_=_&t0=9.%20%22St.%20Walker%22&f1=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcijl50T0n1r4dzljo1.mp3#_=_&t1=8.%20%22Book%20of%20Revelation%22&f2=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t2=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f3=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t3=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f4=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t4=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f5=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t5=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f6=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t6=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f7=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t7=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f8=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t8=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=9)
>   * **Italian translations**
> 

>   1. _Amico mio_ = My friend
>   2. _Coglione_ = Idiot/ Prick/ Arse
>   3. _Calmare_ = Calm down
>   4. _Sì certo_ = Yeah, sure
>   5. _Ciao_ = Bye
> 



	10. Libellus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long, slow update. Exams, blabbity fucking blah. You guys probably know the drill, I assume. But hey, I am going to warn you: this chapter is pretty lewd, compared to what I've written in the past. It's also quite long.
> 
> But, it's what you guys deserve for waiting patiently for so long, so there's an exchange: long waiting, long chapter. I'm not saying I'm only going to write long chapters by making you wait, but patience has its rewards. I don't even know why I'm saying this. Either way, I hope it's not terrible!

" **Wisdom begins in wonder.** "

Malik hit the floor with a dull _thud_. Not before he managed to voice out a shout. He didn't even realise that he was falling till the blunt floor connected with his body; that carpet surrounding his desk did nothing to soften the fall.

"Ow," Malik murmured to no one in particular. Honestly, he was relieved that nobody heard his rather noisy articulations. He didn't enjoy looking weak or like a fool, especially not in front of other people. His pride often times got the best of him.

But OK, no. He was tired of work. He was tired of being tired. He was tired of falling off his chair. He decided that he would go and quench his daily thirst for cognizance.

Malik promptly stood up.

Why did he always feel the need to promptly stand up?

Oh, right, because as of that moment he could really go for a cup of tea and a newspaper or book of some sort. And what better place to fulfil that need than that _Barnes and Noble_ bookstore twenty minutes away from his office? They had a _Starbucks_ café as well, and it was definitely less depressing than the usually barren library.

Hell, did people even know what a library was?

Malik doubted it.

" **Disce pati.** "

Malik felt more comfortable and relaxed than he had in a long time. He was seated in a cushiony chair, newspaper in hand with a steaming, piping cup of chai tea in his other hand. He took a sip from the cup, and set it down on the little table next to him. _Starbucks_ didn't serve Jasmine tea, so he had to make-do with chai tea. Not that he minded, though.

Malik was honestly more of a tea person than a coffee person, and he wasn't ashamed of admitting it in public, despite the gasps and stares of betrayal he'd receive. Sometimes he felt as if there was some sort of secret, hidden war between tea and coffee-lovers.

He set the tea down on the mahogany table in front of him when he had enough of his tea.

Flicking through the newspaper, he read the stocks and world news laxly, taking his time in absorbing the information. The hell was the point in reading if he forgot the information the moment after setting the paper down?

Malik adjusted his glasses.

Stupid, idiotic glasses.

He couldn't call them worthless, though. They _did_ help him see, after all.

Malik blindly reached for his chai tea again, eyes glued on the piece of parchment in front of him. He grabbed the cup, manœuvring it back towards his face—

"Oh, hi doc!"

The now-startled Malik accidentally dropped the cup of chai tea that was once firmly within his grasp. The light beige liquid quickly enveloped the entire front of his shirt.

Malik could feel the 70° C liquid seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and if he could he'd throw the nearest book at the head of the fool who made him spill his chai tea. Malik bit his lip and tried to fake it, but the fact that his face was heated probably did nothing to hide his discomfort.

Malik tried to garner every drop of hate within his body and soul into his eyes, and he looked up at the terror-invoking bastard. He was just thankful that there wasn't any tea within his mouth, else he'd have bathed a poker-faced Altaïr with chai tea.

That fool was looking at Malik as if he had never seen anyone spill a drink in his life.

"Are... you OK?" Altaïr asked, hesitantly.

No, Malik was perfectly fine. That fiery, vapouring cup of chai tea definitely did not land on Malik's shirt which just so happened to be one of his favourite's. And that scorching sensation on his torso? That certainly wasn't the chai tea either. It was probably the amount of love he felt for the idiotic bastard, such a vast, great amount he contained.

"Of course I'm not," Malik spat out.

"Oh God I'm so sorry do you want a new shirt since I ruined it here I'll get you a new shirt," Altaïr said in one full breath. Malik didn't even understand what the hell the fool had said until he began tugging off his hoodie.

"Altaïr," Malik started. Altaïr didn't cease his attempt in removing his hoodie. Perhaps Malik should try again.

"Altaïr," Malik repeated, hoping that the incompetent idiot somehow didn't hear him, as he was not one to repeat himself. To Malik's fucking luck, Altaïr continued with that tugging of cloth over his back. Just how long did it take him to remove a Goddamn hoodie? At that point Malik had enough. He hated it when people didn't answer him directly, and he especially hated repeating himself.

Malik swiftly stood up and grabbed a fistful of Altaïr's hoodie, pulling down. Altaïr looked at him with a dazed expression, but he was still holding onto his own hoodie.

"Altaïr. What the hell are you doing?" Malik said, firmer than the last time.

That actually got Altaïr's hands to slip from the blasted hoodie, and Malik received a reply, "Well, you spilled coffee on your—"

"It's _chai_ tea, you uncultured idiot," Malik hissed. Altaïr really needed to get his shit straight.

Altaïr simply gave him a look of amusement before continuing on as if he were never interrupted by Malik, "—shirt, so I thought that it'd be in your best interest for me to lend you my hoodie, which you also could've kept, if you wanted," Altaïr shrugged, "It's only eye for an eye."

Malik raised his brow and stared at Altaïr for only half a second till he sighed and murmured, "Sweet Lord give me the strength to tolerate this idiot and not throw him out the window of a skyscraper," because, honestly, at the moment that was _exactly_ what he wanted to do.

Altaïr grinned at Malik as though he had just given him the best compliment he'd ever received in his entire Goddamn life. Malik felt something within himself churn. He didn't know what, and he concluded that it was nothing, and that he was going mad since he was constantly surrounded by those who were. Or, maybe it was his subconscious reminding him to fling Altaïr out the window of a skyscraper. "You still spilled _something_ on your shirt," Altaïr purred slyly, if not coquettishly, at Malik.

Malik felt his face heat up even more before he managed to sputter out a retort.

"Oh, and who am I to thank for that? Do you think that I willed the heavenly force above to bathe me in some scathing 5000° liquid? 'Oh, dear God please let an idiotic patient of mine startle me into spilling a steaming, fiery cup of chai tea all over my favourite shirt, thank you very much,'" snapped Malik.

"I do believe that it may be no more than 100° C, as that is the boiling point of water and is commonly used as the temperature to brew tea, although most people prefer to brew tea from a range between 145-190° C," Altaïr stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Why, thank you, _Encyclopædia Britannica_ ," Malik sarcastically retorted.

Altaïr gave him a quizzical expression. "What's that?"

Malik rolled his eyes. "Google before it even existed."

Altaïr nodded his head solemnly. Shit, now was Malik's chance.

Malik awkwardly cleared his throat, apparently much to Altaïr's delight (well, at least judging by his expression), "I wish I could waste my time on you and these meaningless little conversations, but I'm growing older by the second and I have a shirt to clean. Good day and enjoy your life."

Altaïr looked utterly heartbroken, but Malik didn't have time for his petty little doe-eyed expressions he seemed to wear so well. If Malik dawdled along with Altaïr he'd be a senior citizen by the time he finished; that is, if he even got the fucking chance to make it out _alive_.

That manipulative _bastard_.

Altaïr always tried to find ways to keep Malik where he wanted him, or at least so it seemed.

Malik turned on his heels and walked to find the the washroom. He felt compelled to sashay away, but decided not to. He already swaggered around half the time, anyway. Malik himself knew that he did, and yeah, he just admit it. To himself. Not to anyone else. But that was the least of his concerns, as of now he just needed to get that confounded stain off his shirt.

He quickly walked around inside the large, three-story bookstore filled with people. Malik was honestly impressed how such a large amount of people willingly came to _Barnes and Noble_ daily. It was probably the _Starbucks_ that lured them in. Maybe it was that.

Soon finding himself standing in front of the gentlemen's room, Malik pushed the door open. Fortunately it was empty. That meant that less awkwardness would ensue. But Malik didn't really care too much about what other people thought, so it wasn't that great of a problem to begin with.

Malik initially tried cupping the water and rubbing it on the stains splattered across his shirt, but his attempts proved unfruitful and he eventually ceased his efforts. He opted to removing his shirt entirely, placing it beneath the running water of the sink; why make his life more complicated than it already was? Wringing and wrenching the poor, abused shirt Malik prayed that the stains would come out. He pulled the shirt out and inspected it. He did seem to have a significant effect on the shirt, as the stains were faded, but that was exactly the problem: the stains were faded, not gone. The shirt was dunked in the water again as a stifled groan was exempted from Malik's lips. He repeated the washing process thrice or a fourfold amount of times or so.

Malik stopped briefly to scratch the nape of his neck. Halfway in the process of getting his hand to his neck, Malik's elbow and forearm hit something warm. He nearly yelped, for the third time of the day. Was this supposed to be some intolerable test of God's? Or was this supposed to be a source of entertainment for those mythical beings residing atop the welkin?

Something wrapped around his waist and possessively embraced him in a crushing grip. They felt like... hands, followed by a pair of arms?

Malik felt himself heat up in anger, again. If he could, he'd push away from the impostor and repeatedly slam the impostor's head against a nice brick wall, but all he could do was flail, as Malik was firmly trapped within the impostor's clutches.

Damn.

This _really_ was embarrassing. Malik sure as hell wasn't a feeble weakling! And here he was, ensnared by the strong grip of some anonymous guy's (well, at least he hoped so; after all, he was in the gentlemen's room, so it sure as hell couldn't have been a lady) arms. They might as well have been a cage. Or no, maybe not. More of a seatbelt, specifically those safety belts people were required to wear in roller-coasters to prevent injuries from occurring. Yeah, that was the proper metaphor.

Malik thrashed even more until he felt someone's warm puffs of breath brush against his ear. For whatever reason, he found himself growing still. "You left your reading glasses, Doctor Al-Sayf," a smooth voice whispered.

Wait, Malik wasn't wearing his reading glasses? ... Holy shit, he wasn't wearing his reading glasses! What type of fucking sorcery... how the hell did he manage to lose that thing? He hadn't even taken it off; not even for one moment!

"Altaïr," Malik growled through gritted teeth. "Enough bullshit. Give me the glasses, then leave."

Malik looked up from the sink and remembered that there was a Goddamn _mirror_ in front of him. Maybe if he hadn't been labouring away like a fucking thrall he'd have been able to have detected the dolt before he initiated the assault. How long had he been standing there, anyway?

"Don't worry, you'll get them," Altaïr murmured lazily. " _Eventually_."

Malik watched him from the mirror. Altaïr had his chin resting on Malik's shoulder, arms wrapped around his torso. Inside one of Altaïr's hands was Malik's glasses. Malik noticed that Altaïr was watching Malik watch Altaïr. The hell.

" _Now_ ," Malik scathed, dripping with venom.

A diabolical, mischievous expression crept upon Altaïr's face and it took Malik a minute to realise that he was _grinning_. He looked like he found it _all_ , everything that he was doing, entertaining. It didn't take Malik very long till he grew uncomfortable, wary that he was being cuddled, assaulted, or mayhaps both by his very own _patient_.

Altaïr laxly ran his tongue along the prevalent bruise colouring Malik's neck. "How about _later_?" said Altaïr, accentuating the last word with a rough bite on Malik's contusion.

Malik _barely_ retained a soft moan. "No," he breathed.

"Aw, but you seem to like it," Altaïr cajoled, " _And so do I_." He began to rub soothing circles onto Malik's bare torso, shirt still laying unforgotten in the sink. Honestly, Malik felt _anything_ but soothed.

"Altaïr, I'm your therapist for _Chrissake_ ," Malik protested, trying again to free himself from the taller one's grasp.

Altaïr noticed the struggles and tightened his grip, slightly. He lazily lifted his head off Malik's shoulder and planted a soft kiss on Malik's ear. Malik felt his face heat up for what felt like the billionth time that day. He felt terribly uneasy. This was just _so_ wrong on so many levels...

"I. Don't. Care," Altaïr soughed, kissing Malik's cheek at the end of each word to emphasise his point.

Malik's eyes narrowed as he felt his fists clench and unclench. He didn't care what Altaïr thought. He didn't give a crap about Altaïr's opinion. He had no fucks to bestow about that fact that Altaïr didn't care. The only thing that mattered was whether _Malik_ cared, not Altaïr, and at the moment he cared more about long division and those worthless remainder's he learned in primary school than Altaïr's opinion. Malik would only utter a "touché," if Altaïr was in Malik's place, not vice-versa.

"Well _I_ do," Malik argued. He eyed the door out of the corner of his eye. "What if someone just so happens to walk right in?" He nodded his head towards the door. "Dammit, Altaïr, this is a fucking _public_ restroom."

Altaïr subconsciously licked his lips before replying, "It's locked."

Malik's eyes widened. "It's _what_?"

Altaïr shrugged as if it were all completely part of the norm. "I locked it. The door. So you don't have to worry."

Malik stilled for a moment. He was even more worried than before, now that Altaïr mentioned it. The idiot only caused an opposite effect; he meant to calm Malik down by locking the door (how exactly is that consoling?), but that only got Malik even more troubled than before. He had only wanted to wash his fucking shirt, which this same fool ruined. How the hell did it turn to this? And how exactly did Altaïr even manage to lock the door? Probably something he learned as a SEAL.

Malik immediately began trying to shove those alien arms away from his body. "Leave me the hell alone," Malik protested, pushing Altaïr's incommodious arms away. He shoved at Altaïr and tried moving away, but it clearly had no effect on him as Altaïr simply stayed put. He was indeed _much_ stronger than he seemed.

"I'd prefer not to," Altaïr muttered. There was a devilish glint within his aureate eyes, and Malik did not like it one bit. What had gotten into Altaïr? Was he _always_ like this? Some more symptoms to take note of.

"This isn't only about _you_ , you egoïstical fuck," Malik retorted. "What about _me_? Do you really think that I'm enjoying this? Maybe I'm not the only one who needs glasses." He grabbed his still sopping wet shirt, and took a step back. Let the stain and all else be damned, Malik had to get out. He wrung the shirt, not caring that the seeping water dripped and spilled all over the floor. He had originally intended on drying it with a hand-dryer, but Malik didn't have time for that so he wrung the fabric one last time before putting it on.

Tsk-tsking, Altaïr took a subtle step forward, getting closer to Malik. "You are, and I know."

Malik flung his hands in the air. "Yes, of course, because you can read my mind,"

Altaïr took another subtle step. "Malik, I _know_ that you enjoy it,—"

"Come again?" Malik felt like he had just been slapped in the face. Tch, as if Malik would 'enjoy' the inaptly venereal and provocative behaviour of his _patient_ , of all people! The impudence of that uncouth anomaly.

"—but I _also_ know that you're just too coy to admit it."

Malik raised a brow. "What, so now you're calling me a _coquet_?"

Altaïr smirked at that. "No, not necessarily."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" murmured Malik, narrowing his eyes at the taller figure.

Altaïr suddenly put on a stoical expression. "It means that you're mine _only_."

Malik forced out a series of spurious chuckles before solemnly declaring, " _No_."

Altaïr smiled, and it was in that exact moment that Malik realised that, holy crap, this man was fucking _terrifying_. "Look, Malik, there's no need to be demure about it anymore."

 _What_? Malik was honestly befuddled. What the hell was this imbecile speaking of? "Altaïr, I don't know what you're talking about, but if you're under the belief that I fancy you, I'll tell you the truth: I don't fucking fancy you."

Altaïr took another step forward. "Did I ever tell you that you're cute?"

Malik nearly choked on the air he was breathing. " _Excuse me_?"

Altaïr scoffed, taking one more step. He was now a mere metre away from Malik. "What, can't take a compliment?"

Malik rolled his eyes. Altaïr noticed the gesture, and simpered at Malik. Malik turned his head away. Altaïr used the moment and placed one hand next to Malik's head against the wall. He grinned down at his shorter therapist.

To be frank, Malik didn't even realise that he was backed up against the wall till Altaïr began to feverishly grin at him like some rabies-afflicted mutt. Malik tried his best to glower at Altaïr, but it had little effect on the lad.

Altaïr buried his other hand in the thick, dark forest of Malik's hair. He romped around with the smooth locks of hair enveloping his digit's. Malik would have articulated his displeasure, but he found that his tongue stuck to the back of his throat every time he tried. "Mine," Altaïr announced savagely, and before Malik could voice his protest's he found his lip's being crushed against those of a former Navy SEAL. Malik caught himself pondering over _how_ the hell everything had escalated so quickly multiple times, but he never could recall. After all, it _is_ quite difficult to think when one has a foreign tongue invading their mouth.

Altaïr sloppily raided every corner of Malik's mouth until he was sure that he had memorised Malik's flavour. Altaïr noted that he tasted strongly of that chai tea he drank earlier. He silently gave his thanks to the drink, because if it wasn't for the cuppa Altaïr wouldn't be locked in a washroom, right against _his_ striking therapist. His, and his _only_.

Altaïr growled and tightened the grip in Malik's hair, moving the other hand next to Malik's head onto the small of his back. Malik involuntarily released a muffled whine against Altaïr's lips after the sudden change of pressure in his scalp. The sound went straight to Altaïr's crotch, and he tried his best to control himself, because if he didn't he was sure that he'd push Malik against the sink and fuck him right then and there. The idea seemed tempting, and was quite hard to resist, but he wasn't an animal. Albeit, in that moment, he sure wished he was just so that he could use it as an excuse.

Malik frowned internally. This brought him back to his original point: that Altaïr was an egoïstical, self-centred fuck. Oh, why exactly was he considered that by Malik? Well, for one, he literally invaded Malik's mouth without any form of authorisation. On top of that, the guy was fucking _aggressive_. Almost as though it were his last day on Earth. Malik had no say in anything either. He felt more like a possession than anything else, to be used then thrown aloof.

Altaïr _finally_ pulled away, and Malik had never been more thankful for Oxygen in his entire life. After catching his breath, Malik noticed Altaïr watching him. "What?"

Altaïr smirked. "Nothing," but, holy crap, Altaïr wanted to say anything _but_ nothing. Malik looked even more tantalising than usual when he was flustered; heavily-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted, tousled hair, rosy cheeks. Altaïr came to the conclusion that there were just _too_ _many_ _clothes_.

"I liked it better when you weren't wearing your shirt," said Altaïr before flinging himself upon Malik, trying to get that Goddamned shirt off him. Malik didn't even realise what was happening until he was shirtless.

"Give me my shirt back, you bastard. You already took my glasses," Malik grumbled.

Altaïr carelessly tossed the glasses back at Malik, which could have shattered had he not caught them in the nick of time. "Here, have your glasses. Happy?" Altaïr commented. Malik simply glared daggers at him. "Almost," he murmured. "My shirt,"

Altaïr shook his head. "Nope," and he raised his hands in the air.

Malik frowned, and it seemed as though he was debating something with himself. After a long period of reticence, Malik finally broke the silence. " _Please_?" Immediately after he said that, Malik looked as if he regretted every saying that and smacked his hand against his forehead.

Altaïr eyed him with interest. Did he just say _please_? Wow, Altaïr discovered something new about himself that day: He liked it when Malik beseeched. It almost made him want to give the shirt back. _Almost_.

"No," Altaïr said.

Malik flung his hands for the second time that day. "Well, fuck you too!"

Altaïr wore that smug expression again. "You know you want to,"

"Piss off," Malik groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Altaïr watched Malik for a while till he ceased. He appeared to be contemplating something before announcing his thoughts, "Hey, do you want to—"

"No, I do not want to. I don't give a Damn, nor am I interested in knowing what exactly it is that you want to do," Malik had a vague feeling where Altaïr's conversation was going.

"It's always polite to ask," murmured Altaïr before latching himself onto Malik's shoulder. Malik gasped and stumbled back against the wall, but Altaïr preventively wrapped his arms around Malik's waist.

"Altaïr?" Malik whispered questionably. Altaïr didn't respond and instead opted to grazing Malik's collarbone. The shorter lad released a breathy sigh, and Altaïr grinned in triumph. That was his intended effect.

Still testing the waters, Altaïr licked a long trail along the side of Malik's neck. After receiving an endearing shudder, he blew a cool puff of air over the dampened skin.

Malik bit his lips to keep from making any noises.

"You're way too quiet," Altaïr noted, one hand around Malik's waist moving to trace random patterns on his back. He felt Malik loosen up slightly, and he smiled against Malik's collarbone. He gave Malik's shoulder one last bite, causing Malik to yelp, before lifting his lips off the skin. Locating Malik's ear, he gave it a kiss. "I wish to change that," whispered Altaïr, biting the shell of his ear.

Malik would have stunned Altaïr with a clever retort.

 _How about you stop chewing on me like some fucking dog toy_?

But that was the thing. _Would have_. Malik would have spat out a retort, except the sole problem of the situation was that he found himself incapable of articulating his thoughts. The only thing he could do was bite his lips and release breathy noises.

"Would you like to know what I want to do to you?" Altaïr hummed. The restive bastard went back to assaulting Malik's hickey as he had done before, the hickey whose origin Malik still wasn't sure of.

"No," Malik stuttered after much difficulty. It was becoming increasingly arduous to talk, especially with a guy fastened onto his neck like some idiotic leech.

"Ah, that's a shame," Altaïr quietly remarked. He roughly bit down onto Malik's love-bite, generating another yip from Malik. Altaïr chuckled darkly. "But I'll tell you anyway."

Even if he wanted to, Malik couldn't say anything. Not that he didn't want to. It was just terribly labourious to speak, and he found that his throat was suddenly quite exsiccated.

"First, I'd make sure that everyone knew you're mine. I'd cover you in love-bite's. Lick and lap at them, bite and graze at them, anything to make you squirm and shudder," murmured Altaïr. Malik's breath hitched while Altaïr went on, "Then, I'd push you down to the floor, on your knees, and have you suck me off," Altaïr lifted his head and tenderly placed a hand under Malik's chin and pushed up, causing ebony irises to meet those who were gilded and aureate. Malik looked up and observed how Altaïr's eyes gleamed animalistically. He didn't know whether he should've been terrified, or how he should've reacted. At that point, he didn't know what to say anymore. He _couldn't_ say anything. Altaïr grinned, all teeth, continuing, "Bury my hands in your hair while you'd put those beautiful lips to use. Because, c'mon, your lips are just _too_ _good_ to let be. It'd be a disgrace to only use them for osculating."

Malik swallowed. Where was this heading?

"Your talented tongue would swirl around and press against my length, making me tug harder on your hair. You'd hum and moan while you took me in entirely. Saliva would coalesce around the edges of your mouth, coating your lips and dribbling down your chin like the sands of an hourglass, only to drip down onto your chest and the floor," Altaïr licked his lips and began talking in a more febrile manner, "I'd increase my pace, and you'd like it, moaning in approval. You'd try to take more, more of me in, because you can act like a greedy slut, sometimes. But you're _mine_ , and you'd be giving head to _me_ , so it'd be OK if you acted lewd and whorishly. Your lips would continue to slide over my length, lubricated by your saliva. On we would continue, you with your lips and tongue, I with my dick continually being thrust into and out of your mouth alongside my hands clenching your hair," Altaïr eyed Malik's lips, leaving Malik to feel uncomfortable.

Altaïr carried on, keeping his eyes on Malik's lips, "We'd go on till I came into your mouth, yet you either wouldn't notice or care, still running your lips and tongue over my length, the triad now coated in a concoction of your saliva and my come. You'd be even sloppier and messier than before, involuntarily allowing the mixture to coat and trickle down your chin and chest, eventually hitting the floor. Finally, the musky flavour would get to you and you'd detach your lips from my cock with a final moan and a loud pop, the liquid mixture coating your lips and still seeping down your chin," Altaïr watched Malik who, at the moment, honestly felt like throwing up. The hell was wrong with the sick-minded bastard? And why did Malik suddenly find himself rendered incapable of discoursing?

Malik prayed that Altaïr would cease with his madness, and it'd all be some sort of fucked up joke (which, if it was, would leave Altaïr to the fate of being beaten black and blue by his therapist, law enforcement be damned), but Altaïr proceeded as though it was all good, "Still on your knees, you'd be making a mess with that stuff oozing down your face, and you'd be begging, begging for more. I'd make you clean up the mess you made by licking it all off the floor, and you'd comply like the good little whore you are. You sure would be a sight to behold, with your rosy cheeks, parted lips which would be rouge and plump from utilisation, hazy eyes, disheveled hair and appearance, drenched in my come and your own saliva," Altaïr determined, "But, even after seeing you all unkempt and coming inside that orifice between your lips, I still wouldn't be done."

Malik scoffed inwardly. He sounded like a television salesman: " _But wait, there's more!_ " Except, Altaïr had a _much_ more daft look in his eyes. Malik was questioning his sanity; was the man demented or what?

"You'd still be fuckable. At that point, you'd only be in your undergarments," mused Altaïr with a dreamy look, "Much like right now. Except your pants would have to go." One of Altaïr's hands trailed down and found its way to Malik's derrière.

Malik flushed and squirmed, but Altaïr kept him trapped in place. The guy's intentions seemed extremely equivocal, and Malik wanted nothing more in the world than to teleport the hell away from the lunatic. He was completely, and utterly appalled. A sick, tiny part of him actually approved of the entire incident, but Malik tried his best not to let that side take over. He was the guy's _therapist_ , for Chrissake.

"So you'd only be in your boxers," proclaimed an etherial Altaïr, "And your lips would be parted, still red and swollen from serving me. But, that doesn't mean that you'd be incapable of handling more." Altaïr gazed at Malik amorously. Malik narrowed his eyes, swallowing again so that he could tell Altaïr to shut the fuck up and stop staring at him like a creep, but his endeavour's were futile. Nothing came out.

"Which is how you'd end up sucking again, except instead of my cock it'd be three of my fingers: my forefinger, middle finger, and annular finger." Altaïr stopped to plant a kiss onto Malik's lips, licking the affected area. Malik couldn't help the soft whimper which exempted from his lips, thus inducing Altaïr to viciously attack his lips. Altaïr's tongue practically barged into Malik's mouth, and Malik began to suck on the invading object soon thereafter. Altaïr grunted in assent, adding more vim to his movement. He felt his arousal gain more vigour, and he involuntarily rammed up against Malik. Malik, however, was not afflicted as Altaïr was; Altaïr felt disappointed, but he was determined and set out to change that. Mayhaps his verbalisation's would change that? Or should he just continue with his therapist, in hopes that his fantasies would become a reality (a.k.a. their clothes would "magically evanesce")?

Malik was the one to pull away, giving Altaïr an excuse to continue. "You'd be sucking on all three of those fingers, thoroughly coating them with your saliva, making all sorts of salacious noises," his hand still over Malik's backside rubbed affectionately before kneading profusely. Malik vehemently emancipated a lecherous moan, which Altaïr responded to by striking the firm swell of flesh with the palm of his hand. Malik moaned even more vociferously, while Altaïr had a sinister grin on his face. "Noises like that, which I do wish to hear more often."

After he had fully recuperated, Malik sent Altaïr a dark scowl. Altaïr smirked with that smug, pesky expression of his. "Your mouth still reminiscent of the servicing you gave to me earlier, you'd continue whirling your tongue around my digits till I pulled out. You'd whine at the loss while my digits would be dripping in your saliva. I'd smear it all over your cheeks and hair before quickly stuffing it back within your eager mouth, moaning and sucking in approval. We'd repeat this for a while till our impatience would get the best of us."

Altaïr grinned manically at Malik, as if he'd expected him to know what would happen next in those fucked up fantasies of his. Malik knew that telling Altaïr to shut the fuck up wouldn't get him to halt, so his only other choice would be to humour him. But, then again, he couldn't let this man get away with what he was saying. Where the hell would Malik's honour be after the entire ordeal? He'd have not a drop of dignity left.

Before Malik even had the chance to finish his reflection's, Altaïr kept on with his crackbrained prating, "And then, do you know what I'd do?" Malik stared at him. No, he did not know what Altaïr was going to do. He was an innocent fetus, unknowing of the dirty things that happened on this planet. He needed Altaïr to enlighten him with his superior, detailed explanations. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Altaïr intended on shagging him.

 _Dammit_ , of _course_ Malik knew what bawdy, raunchy things Altaïr was referring to. He just hated how Altaïr treated him like a naïve child, ignorant of the ribald things that infinitely existed on this planet. "I'd pick you up off the floor, now smelling strongly of your own saliva, overpowering the smell of my seed. Your face and hair would be wet with your saliva, painted on in patterns like some exotic type of war paint. I'd pick you up and lay you over my lap with ease," Altaïr grinned down upon Malik, "Since you're so tiny." He placed a tender hand in Malik's hair again, stroking softly.

Malik felt his face heat up, except this time it wasn't from embarrassment or awkwardness. His fists clenched and unclenched, and he decided that this was the _last fucking straw_. Malik wasn't short! He was 182 centimetre's, which was actually a _very_ decent height for a male thank you very much. How the hell was that short? Just because Altaïr was some long fucking pole, that doesn't make Malik a midget. Altaïr wasn't some fucking giant either, so he'd do himself and Malik a favour by shutting his idiotic mouth. Call it trivial, call it petty, call it whatever the fuck anyone would please, but Malik found it perfectly rational to get angry at Altaïr for calling him small. He'd already taken and pulled through _more_ than enough of Altaïr's fucking bullshit without complaint or talk, and that said something since it was usually _au contraire_. The conversation would end then and there. Malik honestly wouldn't and couldn't be arsed about anything else.

Malik slapped Altaïr's hand away from his hair before pushing the fool with all his might. The action wasn't foreshadowed, getting Altaïr off guard and causing him to stumble backwards, away from Malik. Malik felt triumphant that he was able to do _that_ to a former Navy SEAL. Showed that he wasn't just "tiny." Altaïr's expression was unfathomable, but Malik paid no heed to that. "Altaïr, I've dealt with enough of your bullshit, so I'll sum it all up for you: shut the fuck up, give me my shirt back, and leave. And don't ever call me short," Malik inhaled deeply, then he went on, "We only have, what, a 12 centimetre difference in height. Does that even make a fucking difference? Nope, it doesn't, so stop treating me as if I'm some petite, dainty lady who can't handle anything. Do I really need to walk around on the tip of my toes whenever I'm around you just so you can shut your mouth?" 

Altaïr's eyes heated up, but they cooled down not too long after. He got that cocky, insufferable expression on his face again. "Alright, princess," and with that, he threw the shirt at Malik's head, sticking onto Malik's face till he plucked it off. Malik exhaled and glowered at Altaïr. He then proceeded to wear his shirt, which only took him less than a second. "I never knew your diction and syntax was that rich," mused Malik, "Who knew that the lexicon of a novice like you would be so opulent. I learned something new today." This time it was Altaïr's turn to narrow his eyes. "Well, actually, I learned new _things_ today. My apologies," Malik mocked, "Want to know what I learned? Well, I learned that Altaïr is going to stick his cock and fingers down my throat and into my arse. I also learned that I'm a 'good little whore,' as directly quoted by none other than the great Ibn-La'Ahad. Oh, and did I forget to mention that—"

"Shut your mouth, Al-Sayf," Altaïr interrupted. Malik noticed how his face was slightly sombre, but only by a slim amount. What the hell, wasn't it all just fun and games with this fool? Why was he suddenly all serious and crap? "Or what," Malik dared, cleverly observing and waiting for Altaïr's reaction, "The hell would you do?" Altaïr's eyes narrowed. _The hell would I do_? Malik wanted to know what he would do? _Well_ , first he'd bind and straddle Malik, which shouldn't be such a labourious task considering their noticeable difference in height. Then he'd backhand Malik once, twice at most. After that, he'd restrict Malik with either duct tape or a fabric, or perhaps his cock. He'd like that very much. Mayhaps, in the end, he'd do _other_ things to Malik. _So there, Malik_. _That's what the hell I would do_. As tempting as it was, Altaïr knew it'd be best to keep the comment to himself. His therapist sure had a lot of spunk and cheekiness bottled up inside him. It's always best not to shake a bottle of carbonated liquid. It's even worse to put a Mentos inside Diet Coca-Cola, let alone _two_ Mentos'. But one would be asking for an instant death if they'd ever choose to anger Malik. They'd probably have to be stupid, neophytical, or both to do that. Altaïr felt his teeth clench at the thought of not being able to show, no, _demonstrate_ what the hell Altaïr would do to Malik. The world was frustrating.

 _Bulls-eye_. Altaïr's jaw tensed. This time, it was instead Malik who smirked, prideful of his achievement. He had successfully shut Altaïr up. But, he wouldn't let the fun end there. Malik had to have his share of entertainment, as well. He deserved it. "Hey, Altaïr, did I ever ask you if you were related to E.L. James? Because you two seem to be expressing interest in the same fucked up shit." Altaïr's face contorted and he looked at Malik as though he were mentally deranged. "E.L. James is the author, not one of the character's," corrected Altaïr. Malik simply snickered, "Brilliant. Altaïr, you just gave yourself away. Why is it not surprising that I expected you to know that?" Altaïr watched Malik circumspectly. "Know what?" he said carefully. "All about E.L. James and her crackbrained novels. What was it, a trilogy on Fifty Shades?" chuckled Malik. Altaïr huffed, seemingly nettled. "Malik, that shit is common fucking knowledge. You don't have to be a Goddamn fan to know the name of an author."

Malik merely raised a brow at that. "Sure," he crooned, displaying his doubt by extending the 'u' in the word. Altaïr eyed Malik and wanted nothing more in the world than to wipe that smug grin off Malik's face. That smirk was _his_ signature trait, not Malik's. Yet, frankly, Malik's sauciness wore him out, so he had a meagre amount of retort's in store for his shorter therapist.

After lazily scrutinising Altaïr for a couple more seconds, Malik felt that it would be an appropriate time to leave. He had finally put the fool in his place. "Well, it's been great being locked alone in the washroom with you," Malik remarked sarcastically, "But I'm your therapist, and I don't have the time to sit here and chat. We're _supposed_ to do that in our sessions, but it's quite difficult when you're _consistently_ showing up late. Stay tranquil and sound for me, won't you Altaïr?" _For he has bereaved me of the pair_. _He probably won't hesitate to do the same to himself and others_.

As Malik turned to leave, Altaïr fell into a silent panic. As much as Malik longed to leave, Altaïr simply could not grant him the luxury. Altaïr's therapy was _far_ from over, for obvious reason's. If Malik were to walk away, awkwardness would ensue in their next session, and Altaïr would _never_ get a chance. Malik was too clever a man not to realise Altaïr's intention's and sentiment. A conception briskly amalgamated within his mind. Mayhaps, if he were to render Malik unconscious, then transfer his senseless therapist back into his office the problem would be solved. Yes, it was absolutely brilliant! Malik would wake up, and be doubtful of the events when he recalled them. Then, if he were to confront Altaïr about them, Altaïr would play stupid and suggest that it was all part of Malik's fucked up dream. Altaïr grinned, proud of his scheme and thinking skills.

Altaïr silently crept up behind his unwitting therapist, unlocking the door. Suddenly, Altaïr clamped one hand over Malik's mouth and lifted his head up a bit simultaneously while precluding him from confabulating, let alone articulating. After impeding, he manœuvred and placed his other hand below Malik's neck to meet the depression right under Malik's skull with an identical amount of swiftness. Altaïr roughly drove the pollex of his second hand within the tender cartilage, feeling it excavate. Malik immediately slouched and nearly collapsed onto the floor, had Altaïr not caught him in time. Altaïr murmured a silent apology to Malik, knowing full well that Malik would be unable to hear it. He pressed his lips against the cheeks of his unconscious, shorter therapist.

Now came the complicated part: how to get the hell out of the bookstore without invoking suspicion. Altaïr knew that it was sometime during the eventide, and the store would be closing within a couple of hours. Since he and Malik were in a washroom, that meant that they were located in a remote part of the store (perhaps a corner?) because who would put a restroom right in the middle of a public place? So that wouldn't be too complex. Since the sun was down, the place shouldn't be as bustling as it would be when the sun was up. No "family friendly" people with their offspring, nor any of their crap. So there'd also be a shortage of dubious people. Younger people tended to have less fucks to give than older people, and Altaïr could use that to his advantage.

Altaïr had no shades, but what he _could_ do would involve mild medical conditions. Altaïr knew that he was no physician, but maybe he could say that Malik suffered from an abnormal condition where he'd black out randomly, and he'd usually wake up after a couple of minutes. Nothing serious, else people would get fishy and start calling for help and for an ambulance. Altaïr currently needed none of that. So there he had it. His plan was flawless. He'd prop Malik up in his chair in his office, then he might pay Kadar a visit.

Altaïr smiled. He kept his promise.

He was staying tranquil and sound.

Doctor's orders, they were.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Libellus_ , means "Little book" in Latin
>   * _Disce pati_ , means "Learn to endure" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-10 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://8tracks.s3.amazonaws.com/tf/002/360/842/55077.mp3&t0=10.%20%22Crave%20You%20\(feat.%20Giselle\)%22&f1=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2firznZ1R1r6jlaso1.mp3#_=_&t1=9.%20%22St.%20Walker%22&f2=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcijl50T0n1r4dzljo1.mp3#_=_&t2=8.%20%22Book%20of%20Revelation%22&f3=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t3=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f4=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t4=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f5=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t5=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f6=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t6=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f7=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t7=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f8=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t8=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f9=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t9=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=10)
> 



	11. Cogita de hoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr dreams and reveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To prevent confusion, Altaïr's fantasies are _italicised_.

" **He does not need opium.  He has the gift of reverie.** "

_Malik smiled. It wasn't one of those amicable smiles. Altaïr attempted to mirror the gesture, but all that came out was a smirk. "Trying too hard to be like me, novice?" Malik murmured, his voice coated in amusement. Altaïr's eyes narrowed slightly and his smirk intensified. Malik scoffed._

_They eyed each other, spending the next five minutes of their lives trying to burn each other's faces off solely using their eyes._

_One moment Altaïr blinked, and the next he realised that he was being pinned down by some odd sort of force. He looked up and met the lubricious eyes of his therapist. Altaïr swallowed the saliva beginning to irrigate the caverns of his mouth._

_Malik was straddling Altaïr's chest, both hands filled with the bunched up lapels of Altaïr's shirt. Altaïr took in the view above him, all the while watching Malik with a lecherous gaze. Malik seemed to take notice of that, as he smirked and subsequently pulled the shirt bunched up between his digits, closing his eyes and smashing his lips against those of Altaïr._

_Altaïr answered with an equal amount of vigour, slipping his tongue within the orifice between Malik's lips, attempting to map out the mouth of the other lad. He felt Malik's fingers loosen up from his shirt, instead trailing up his abdomen only to curl into his hair. In return, his hands found residence atop Malik's hips._

_Malik's formerly closed eyes suddenly snapped open, and Altaïr found himself staring at what he had formerly thought to be two pieces of coal. Malik blinked and Altaïr realised he was staring at his_ eyes _. But, he didn't care because Malik tasted_ wonderful _and that was all he could think about, regardless of the fact that his eyes were intriguing. He'd have plenty of time to memorise them later._

_Malik's digits slowly slipped away from Altaïr's hair, to which Altaïr frowned at. Malik's fingers moved towards the hem of his own shirt, but Altaïr was too busy mourning over the loss to even notice. Altaïr's grip on Malik's hips tightened as he continued on with his osculating, but apparently Malik had other plans. He pulled away for the second time that day, causing a low whine to escape from Altaïr's throat._

_Malik rolled his eyes and placed a hand onto Altaïr's torso, gently pushing. Altaïr fell down so that he was lying on his back, watching as Malik shot him a smirk. The hands on the hem of Malik's shirts began to grab hold of the cloth and pull upwards, allowing Malik to remove his shirt. Instantaneously, Altaïr's mouth began to water. He silently admired the body on top of him, massaging circles onto Malik's hips._

_Malik leaned down so that his forehead leaned against that of Altaïr's. His lips brushed over Altaïr's, hovering above only half a millimetre away. Altaïr attempted to lean upwards and snatch a kiss, but the pressure Malik's forehead was applying prevented that from happening. Altaïr groaned in frustration while Malik merely fleered. He pressed a quick kiss onto Altaïr's lips before moving to one of his ears. Malik nuzzled his lips against the shell of Altaïr's ear and allowed a warm puff of his breath to exit his mouth. Altaïr's breath hitched._

_"_ Ama me fideliter _," whispered Malik._

_He gave a brisk lick to the skin before moving back to Altaïr's face, which seemed to have a strangely smug grin plastered onto it. Malik was confused, he meant to have the opposite effect. What was this, then?_

_The tables were turned before he had a chance to even figure it out. Altaïr had flipped Malik over so that Altaïr was now the one straddling Malik's chest, not vice-versa. Malik snarled and attempted to push Altaïr off him, but Altaïr grabbed both his arms and manœuvred them above his head. Malik glared at him but Altaïr merely grinned down at him, clearly amused._

_"_ Obligabor _," he chuckled, before attacking Malik's mouth._

" **You know I love the past, 'cause I hate suspense.** "

Altaïr felt something vibrating within the pocket of his pants. He looked around and realised that he was in his room, on his bed. He groaned and rubbed his face with his fingers, depressed about the fact that some idiot had interrupted his pleasant daydreams. His phone continued on with the vibrating. Tired of the wretched piece of metal, he swiftly grabbed his phone and within a matter of seconds it was off. He sighed and place it on the nightstand near his bed. Whoever the hell had called or texted him could fucking wait.

Altaïr plopped onto his bed, laying on his back. He huffed out another sigh and thought about what had just happened: he dropped (an unconscious) Malik off to his office, then he spent his time with Kadar till his adonis came back. Malik didn't know that Altaïr was within his presence, which is how Altaïr was able to escape undetected. He then came here, to his apartment, where he was daydreaming over Malik till some idiot decided to try and contact him. Daydreaming wasn't much of an appropriate word due to the fact that, for one, it wasn't day; it was sometime early in the morning. Morning-dreaming would have been a much more appropriate word.

He decided against the word and closed his eyes, rewinding the memories he spent with his therapist. He recalled them all vividly, looping them continuously behind his eyes. It seemed as though it had all happened moments ago. Altaïr suddenly stifled a yawn, realising that he was tired as fuck. It was no surprise to him.

He felt himself slowly lose consciousness, his therapist being the last and only thing etched on his mind.

" **They are who I am when I'm too tired to be me.** "

_"_ Ghabi _," Malik muttered, rolling his eyes. Altaïr nearly laughed since he knew that Malik didn't mean his insults. "But you still adore me," stated Altaïr, propping his face up on his hands. Malik gave him an incredulous look. Altaïr knew he meant the opposite._

_"No," huffed Malik._

_Altaïr stared at Malik and attempted to put on his best pouty face. "So you don't adore me?"_

_Malik crossed his arms and looked down. "No," he said, ultimately turning away._

_Altaïr placed a hand on Malik's shoulder. "Are you sure?" insisted he, masking himself in mock sadness. Malik stayed silent at the comment, and Altaïr's face stretched into a grin. "Yes you do." Altaïr received no response, but he noticed the brief glare Malik shot at him. "Yes you do!" he repeated, nearly shouting._

_Malik rolled his eyes and turned to face Altaïr. "Hasn't anyone told you that_ nothing is true _?" Slowly nodding his head, Altaïr allowed those words to sink in. He searched for a proper reply. "Yes, but they also told me that_ everything is permitted _," Altaïr retorted, "And assuming, no,_ knowing _the truth is permitted. Even if_ nothing is true _."_

 _Malik narrowed his eyes at Altaïr. "_ Bakrahak _," he grumbled._

_"Wow, I'm sorry if I sadden you by saying this, but that feeling is not mutual," stated Altaïr. Malik raised a brow. "Damn, your words are like a stab to the heart. They sadden me terribly. Your statement was awfully painful. It saddens me."_

_"Oh, you," Altaïr chuckled, placing a hand on his hip teasingly while tilting his head slightly. He couldn't help but feel accomplished when the corners of Malik's lips curved upwards at the statement. He needed to see Malik happy more often. "Idiot," said Malik with a delicate smile._

_While watching Malik smile, a crazy thought suddenly popped up into Altaïr's head. What if he could prolong Malik's smile? He had a vague idea as to how. Altaïr subtly scooted closer to Malik, the action going completely unnoticed. "Hey, Mal," whispered Altaïr. He acquired no response, but he saw how Malik's head moved slightly to watch him with curiosity. Altaïr inhaled internally and focused his gaze on Malik's eyes._

_Had he not known any better, he'd have assumed that he was Medusa (or at least a male counterpart) since Malik was unmoving and due to the fact that he kept Malik's eyes dead-on on his own._

_And, had he not known any better, he'd have sat there perfectly still and frozen, occupying and amusing himself with a staring contest against Malik._

_But he knew better, and he knew that he knew better._

_Altaïr silently slid towards the other, wrapping one arm around Malik's waist and cupping his other hand behind Malik's head. Not wanting to spoil the moment by being too rough and demanding, Altaïr slowly pressed his lips against Malik's. He initially received no response, but soon found Malik's arms draped over his shoulder, loosely hugging his neck. Malik canted his head to better Altaïr's access and to find a suitable position._

_"_ Ana bahebak, ya hmar _," uttered Malik._

" **But you got the luck of a Kennedy.** "

Shivering yet radiating with heat, Altaïr woke up in a cold sweat. He grunted and scratched the back of his head. Realising that he was in his bed, he looked over at the nightstand and noticed the time: 4.52AM.

Damn.

And his dream, holy crap, his dream... Altaïr immediately shut his eyes and raveled himself within the blanket bedecking him. The dream was actually good. Really good. Of course, that was no surprise at all. Malik was in it.

Altaïr tried to vividly recall the events of the dream, hoping it'd lull him to sleep somehow so he could dream of the same exact thing, or somehow get back to where he stopped off.

It never really did come back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Cogita de hoc_ , means "Think about it" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-11 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://cd05.128.music.static.jango.com/music/05/90/51/0590510726.mp3&t0=11.%20%22Still%20Take%20You%20Home%22&f1=http://8tracks.s3.amazonaws.com/tf/002/360/842/55077.mp3&t1=10.%20%22Crave%20You%20\(feat.%20Giselle\)%22&f2=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2firznZ1R1r6jlaso1.mp3#_=_&t2=9.%20%22St.%20Walker%22&f3=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcijl50T0n1r4dzljo1.mp3#_=_&t3=8.%20%22Book%20of%20Revelation%22&f4=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t4=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f5=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t5=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f6=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t6=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f7=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t7=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f8=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t8=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f9=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t9=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f10=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t10=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=11)
>   * **Latin Translations**
> 

>   1. _Ama me fideliter_ = Love me faithfully
>   2. _Obligabor_ = I shall
> 

> 
> * **Arabic Translations**
> 
>   1. _Ghabi_ = Idiot
>   2. _Bakrahak_ = I hate you
>   3. _Ana bahebak, ya hmar_ = I love you, you donkey [idiot]
> 



	12. Fulgurare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik confronts, but now he's even _more_ confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because bagels are deep. And this chapter [and Beginning Note] is shorter than Robin Givens' marriage between Svetozar Marinković.

" **I'm not saying it was your fault, although you could have done more. You're so naïve.** "

"So you're saying that I was probably dreaming?"

Altaïr nodded at that statement.

Malik felt inclined to arch a brow. He chuckled dryly. "Oh really?"

Altaïr nodded again.

It had been fifteen minutes since Altaïr entered Malik's office for his weekly appointment. Awkwardness ensued for the first five minutes, Malik glaring at Altaïr through narrowed eyes while Altaïr tried his best to keep himself calm, composed, and pokerfaced. He didn't need Malik seeing through his lie.

To say that Malik was completely and utterly confused would be an understatement. One moment he was, or he _thought_ he was, in a bookstore and the next he was inside his office sitting up on his chair, face on his desk with his arms encircling his head. Malik proposed several theories as to why, or more importantly _how_ , he got from a bookstore to his office.

At first he assumed that he drove from there to his office, then he fell asleep from exhaustion. Then he thought that he might have fallen asleep at the bookstore and somehow sleepwalked to his office.

And then there was his most radical theory, which was that he had teleported from the bookstore to his office due to some magical mutant powers that would get him immediate membership into the X-Men or some shit.

None of them seemed to click in Malik's mind, getting him frustrated until he remembered about Altaïr and those events involving him. He swore at himself for not reacting harshly enough. The entire time his patient was assailing him Malik acted as though it was all good and perfectly fine. Why the hell didn't he do anything? Was it because Malik had _enjoyed_ it? Malik had grimaced at the thought and mentally berated himself for thinking such sick and odd thoughts. _No_ , he had _not_ enjoyed it. Not one bit. His brain probably wasn't functioning properly at the time, that was probably it.

But it still didn't answer Malik's question: _How_ exactly did he end up in his office from a bookstore kilometre's away?

It just blew his fucking mind, which is why Malik nearly burned a hole through Altaïr's head when Altaïr stated that he never saw Malik and that Malik probably had some weird dream.

Altaïr drummed his fingers against his thighs and kept his eyes on Malik. Malik took notice of his body's behaviour.

"Is something the matter, Altaïr?" Malik asked.

"Um, no." Altaïr continued drumming his fingers. "Why'd you ask?"

"Because you're drumming your fingers."

Altaïr smirked. "Who wouldn't when they have a guy like you staring at them?"

Malik sent Altaïr a questioning look. The hell was that supposed to mean? Was there some hidden message behind his statement? Malik decided not to try and decipher Altaïr's befuddling utterance.

It just felt a bit, well, off. Something didn't seem right. Altaïr seemed completely calm and contained on the outside, yet he was drumming his fingers. That indicated nervousness or anxiety. What could he possibly be nervous about? And then on top of that were Altaïr's odd claims that Malik was basically just hallucinating. Sure, he could have been correct, but the way he articulated that idea was strange. He said it so confidently, as though he was 100% sure that Malik had in fact dreamt everything up.

Maybe this was a dream too.

Maybe Malik's life was a dream.

Maybe he was just a bagel.

Malik shook himself from his thoughts. They were getting too complex and deep.

In the end, he decided to simply humour Altaïr, though he still had his doubts.

"Hey, Altaïr, I think you may be right," Malik murmured while rubbing his head. "I think I might have dreamt the entire thing up. Sorry that I got you involved in it."

Altaïr might have seemed deadpanned at the moment, but on the inside he felt like a fucking success. Yeah, lying was bad and all but it didn't really count since Altaïr wasn't exactly lying. It was more like manipulating him, a _whole_ _other_ thing. And Malik _was_ asleep, after all. Who knows what he might have been dreaming about; maybe the events might have been twisted and changed in his dreams, and he kept those parts to himself, which Altaïr didn't really mind or care about. He got what he wanted, after all.

"No problem, it's all good," Altaïr replied, keeping his expression neutral.

Malik could have sworn that he saw Altaïr's face flicker. Then, in a millisecond, it was gone. Altaïr was void of any form of expression. His deadpanned face came after, like thunder. But, Malik was nearly positive that he saw a look of relief and pure elation on Altaïr's face.

He had no time to confirm his suspicions since, like lightning, it was completely gone in less than a second.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Fulgurare_ , means "I Flash/ Glitter/ Shine brightly" in Latin
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-12 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false&f0=http://mediacult.fr/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/the-kooks-naive.mp3&t0=12.%20%22Na%C3%AFve%22&f1=http://cd05.128.music.static.jango.com/music/05/90/51/0590510726.mp3&t1=11.%20%22Still%20Take%20You%20Home%22&f2=http://8tracks.s3.amazonaws.com/tf/002/360/842/55077.mp3&t2=10.%20%22Crave%20You%20\(feat.%20Giselle\)%22&f3=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2firznZ1R1r6jlaso1.mp3#_=_&t3=9.%20%22St.%20Walker%22&f4=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcijl50T0n1r4dzljo1.mp3#_=_&t4=8.%20%22Book%20of%20Revelation%22&f5=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t5=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f6=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t6=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f7=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t7=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f8=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t8=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f9=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t9=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f10=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t10=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f11=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t11=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=12)
> 



	13. Novum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik meets someone. Altaïr does not approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ALTAÏR NEVER APPROVES.~~
> 
> **Not-So-Fun-Fact(s):** Did you know that 28384939% of the time spent writing this chapter was wasted on deciding whether I should implement _Abbas_ , or just create an Original Male Character (OMC). You'll find out which one I chose. I'm not too much of a(n) OMC-maker (though they're quite fun to read, actually). Either way, let us hope that I did not fail epically.

" **Guilty feet have got no rhythm.** "

With the exception of Malik's younger brother, Altaïr did not appreciate any living thing getting near Malik. He never saw the selfishness in that desire, but he really didn't care. Unless an injury was desired, it would be best for potential suitors to refrain from flirting and stay at least ten miles away from him.

Malik always did wonder why certain people would be so friendly (to the point of philandering) one day, and then uncomfortably placid the next. They'd act as if someone literally had a gun to their head. Malik would ask if everything was fine, to which they'd nervously laugh and utter a forced, "Yeah...?" This troubled and puzzled Malik even more, but there were never any clues as to what could be causing such odd behaviour.

It was as though he was being watched by a phantom.

Well, he _was_ constantly being watched someone, but it wasn't necessarily a phantom.

And Altaïr was one to appreciate being called anything other than a phantom, let alone a stalker.

Because, he figured that he was none of those. It was not a sin to admire a fine looking human from a distance in the shadows. Hell, he could do whatever he wanted. He really shouldn't and didn't care what other people thought of him, unless those other people were none other than his very own therapist.

But, so far, nobody had figured out.

" **And forget not that the Earth delights to feel your bare feet, and the winds long to play with your hair.** "

Altaïr narrowed his eyes at the man with whom Malik was talking and laughing. He didn't intend on depriving Malik of any joyous feeling, for that was definitely not the case, but Altaïr felt that those emotions should be shared with him, and him alone, not some other fool who didn't even deserve a damn _smile_ from Malik.

"You're studying to be a Psychologist as well?" Malik had said.

His conversational partner had broken into a vigourous grin before replying, "Yeah, and I'm assuming that you are too. Am I right?"

Malik smiled. "Yes, you're correct." He paused briefly and frowned before adding, "Although the studying really is beginning to give me hell."

The man cracked a vulpine grin. "Perhaps we should study together sometime," he suggested.

Altaïr had decided that the man was completely done once Altaïr got his hands on him. He nearly wanted to jump out of his hiding spot and strangle the man to death, but under his given circumstances he refrained from doing just that.

Malik, completely oblivious to Altaïr's presence and fury, mirrored the other man's sly expression flawlessly. "I would very much like that."

Altaïr's blood began to boil yet, still, he was unable to act upon his emotions.

He wondered how long that would last.

The man smirked at Malik's suggestion and somehow produced a pen out of thin air. Malik allowed him to write his number on the inside of his wrist. After the numbers were written, the man gave Malik a small smile and a nod, indicating that he was done. Once the man started to walk away, Altaïr released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Wait," called Malik. The man stopped walking and turned around.

Altaïr groaned internally.

"You never told me your name."

The man let out a sigh. "Lynkos. Lynkos Aleik Demetriou."

After saying that, he swiftly said, "I know, I know. I have a terribly weird name, but it's because I'm Greek."

A switch finally turned on in Altaïr's head. He should have realised that he was Greek, or at least Mediterranean, sooner. It explained his olive-coloured skin, wavy black hair with brown undertones, and vivid green eyes quite well. It also said something about his very slight accent. Had Altaïr not hated the Greek with an undying passion, he'd have found him remotely attractive.

The man huffed out a breath. "You can nickname me. Most people here just call me by my middle name, Aleik."

"But I like your first name," murmured Malik.

Aleik looked at him as if he was insane.

"Besides, if you think your name is weird, then my name is just completely and utterly bizarre."

Aleik rolled his eyes. "I doubt that."

"Say that after meeting another Malik Al-Sayf."

"Malik is a fairly common name, actually."

Malik scoffed. "What, are you a nomenologist now?"

A playful grin appeared on Aleik's face. "Most certainly. Feel free to ask me any questions regarding names."

Malik raised a brow. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

Before Aleik even had a chance to reply to that, Malik's phone began vibrating; he hated it whenever his phone rang, so he simply put in on vibrate.

"Someone's calling me." Malik looked at Aleik with a sorrowful expression.

"Could that be why your phone is vibrating?" Malik narrowed his eyes while Aleik merely laughed. "Alright I'm sorry." Aleik raised his arms in defense. "But, I'll probably have to leave now anyway. Don't want to be taking up too much of your time."

Malik didn't even get the opportunity to tell Aleik that, no, he wasn't taking up too much of his time. Hell, he wasn't taking up _any_ of his time. He enjoyed Aleik's presence. But Aleik was already walking away, so Malik never did vociferate those thoughts. Not that he would have, if he had the chance.

"See you later," called Aleik.

Malik knew he'd have to see him later. But that'd be for later. Right now, he had to answer some confounded call.

"Hello," snapped Malik a bit too harshly, especially for the caller's liking.

Malik received no reply, and instead of waiting for one he hung up. He figured that whoever called him didn't deserve his time.

Little did he know that a certain patient of his was behind the line.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless Information
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Novum_ , means "New [thing]" in Latin
>   * _Lynkos_ is a Greek name derived from a word which means "Lynx." Let's just say it means Lynx, OK? Oh, and I chose it because, well, Altaïr's name means "Eagle," so why not choose another animal-name character, especially when they're not supposed to be BFFs with each other or anything (I actually want it to be the opposite)? Hot Damn, researching Greek names is a bitch since 90% of the search results are either Ancient Greek heroes or some shit, or completely unrelated. Or maybe I was just doing it wrong, I don't even know at this point.
>   * _Aleik_ is a Greek name derived from a word which means "Defending men." _Demetriou_ is a Greek surname derived from a word which means "[Follower] of Demeter."
>   * Do not fear, for OMC will not affect the general/ overall relationship of this fic (AltMal). What I mean is that, nope, this fic sure as hell _won't_ turn into a OMCxMalik fic. It's just ~~really fucking really~~ fun pissing Altaïr off and getting him to be jealous and envious as hell and act like a possessive (yet still radical as in awesome) fucker.
>   * [Chapter(s) 1-13 Playlist](http://www.sheepproductions.com/billy/billy.swf?autoplay=false%0A&f0=http://cdn.cloudfiles.mosso.com/c68932/ok_go-i_want_you_so_bad_i_cant_breathe.mp3&t0=13.%20%22I%20Want%20You%20So%20Bad%20I%20Can't%20Breathe%22&f1=http://mediacult.fr/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/the-kooks-naive.mp3&t1=12.%20%22Na%C3%AFve%22&f2=http://cd05.128.music.static.jango.com/music/05/90/51/0590510726.mp3&t2=11.%20%22Still%20Take%20You%20Home%22&f3=http://8tracks.s3.amazonaws.com/tf/002/360/842/55077.mp3&t3=10.%20%22Crave%20You%20\(feat.%20Giselle\)%22&f4=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2firznZ1R1r6jlaso1.mp3#_=_&t4=9.%20%22St.%20Walker%22&f5=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcijl50T0n1r4dzljo1.mp3#_=_&t5=8.%20%22Book%20of%20Revelation%22&f6=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_ln6k7b5Jp31qzsahoo1.mp3&t6=7.%20%22No%20Buses%22&f7=http://yamonsvotal.com/Music3/Henrietta.mp3&t7=6.%20%22Henrietta%22&f8=http://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/104739227/Funeral%20Suits%20-%20All%20those%20friendly%20people.mp3&t8=5.%20%22All%20Those%20Friendly%20People%22&f9=http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5tet3fQyT1r89kwdo1.mp3&t9=4.%20%22Take%20Me%20Out%22&f10=http://www.coreybarksdale.com/Music/03%20This%20Boy.mp3&t10=3.%20%22This%20Boy%22&f11=http://themusicslut.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/09-photobooth.mp3&t11=2.%20%22Photobooth%22&f12=http://bonton.sweetdarkness.net/music/franz_ferdinand-no%20you%20girls.mp3&t12=1.%20%22No%20You%20Girls%22&total=13)
> 



	14. Deprehensus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was going to happen eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the peculiar way I have organised this chapter (non-linear), you may not initially understand what in the unholy fuck is happening.
> 
> However, I assure you that by the time you're finished reading you'll understand.
> 
> _I guarantee it!_
> 
> ~~[Ignore my] shitty references~~

" **My only crime, was that I'm too damn kind.** "

The items within the paper bag fell all over the floor, but Malik did not notice or care to notice. The only thing he saw was a foreign, sandy-haired man. With Kadar.

Kadar.

"Altaïr," screeched Malik.

He grabbed Kadar and tried maintaining a ten-feet distance from Altaïr.

He had only been gone for ten minutes to run an errand and get some groceries.

Ten. Fucking. Minutes.

He'd trusted Kadar enough not to burn the house down since the kid was in his room, distracted with his toys. Malik had even told him that he'd be gone for a very short time, and not to let anyone in under any given circumstance. "Not even the President?" Kadar had asked. Malik chuckled. "Nope, not even the President."

And then here was his motherfucking patient, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, chilling with Kadar as though it was all good in the hood.

"What are you doing here?" enquired Malik none-too-kindly, shock etched onto his features.

Altaïr tried to play it cool and shrugged. "Nothing."

Malik immediately flared up to that one word. "Nothing? Are you sure? Because this does not look like _nothing_." He motioned at the now-untouched children's toys, puppets, and objects scattered about the ground.

Kadar grinned at Malik. "It was real funny, Mal!"

Malik smiled back. Maybe it was. But that was beyond the point. He directed his scowl at Altaïr.

"What have you been doing to him?" he demanded, burning Altaïr with his shock-widened eyes. This man, Altaïr, was his fucking _patient_. The man who paid Malik to help sort his shit out. The man who probably had a full list of mental illnesses and, God forbid, more problems.

This same man had been interacting with his _baby brother_. His _Kadar_. The child was barely even five and only God knows what things he could have done to the poor kid. This caused Malik to feel guilty for not sensing Altaïr's presence all those times he'd been, well, creeping around. He felt as though he had failed as an older brother, and as a guardian. He'd probably ruined the kid's childhood unwittingly all because of one _fuckwit_ of a patient.

When Altaïr failed to answer his terribly fucking _simple_ question, he turned to Kadar. "Kadar," Malik said, his voice immediately softening, "Is this the first time he's been here?" Kadar shook his head. "What has this man been doing to you?"

Kadar looked at Malik. Wasn't it obvious? Friendliness radiated off the sandy-haired guy like the rays of the sun. What else would he be doing other that keeping Kadar company? "Nothing, Mal," exclaimed Kadar truthfully, "'Cept playing. I'm serious!"

Lies. Malik turned to Altaïr and narrowed his eyes. Altaïr couldn't have been doing "nothing" to Kadar all the while. Which adult willingly took the time out of their day to play with a child who wasn't even theirs? Besides that, why else would the sick fuck consistently visit Kadar for no other reason than to fulfil his fucked up appetite? The thought made Malik sick, and had Kadar not been there he'd have killed Altaïr in an instant. He was much too forgiving.

"Altaïr. Answer me," growled Malik. Altaïr looked at him, all wide-eyed, completely unsure with what to do or say. "Your brother isn't kidding."

"Bull—" Malik remembered that he was in the presence of his younger brother and bit his tongue. He had to try keeping everything G-rated at most. "That's a lie. Why else would you come here _repeatedly_ only to meet with a young five-year-old?"

"Malik," interrupted Kadar. He looked into his older brother's eyes and hoped that he'd see the veracity through the windows of his soul. "Altaïr isn't lying. He's actually really nice!" Malik sighed and carded his fingers through Kadar's hair in a comforting gesture.

"Listen to your brother, Malik."

Malik glared at Altaïr. "And why? How do I know that you're not secretly blackmailing him to sugarcoat his words?"

Altaïr rolled his eyes. Malik was being unreasonable. "He's five. What could I possibly blackmail him with?"

Malik shrugged, and spent a moment pondering. "I don't know... candy? Toys? That's not even the point. The point is that you're disgusting and I don't want to see you anywhere near my little brother."

Kadar looked up at Malik with his puppy-dog eyes which, honestly, confused the crap out of him. Why was he making puppy-dog faces? Was he really attached to his older brother's deranged patient? Perhaps Altaïr hadn't been lying... and perhaps the Sun revolved around Earth as well.

But Altaïr looked equally as heartbroken. He was likely a superb actor.

"Malik." Kadar looked at Malik with something akin to disappointment, confusion, and grief. "That's not how you treat your friend."

Right when those words flew out of Kadar's mouth Malik's gaze settled on a now-rigid Altaïr. Then back to Kadar. And then, once again, a highly uncomfortable Altaïr. Only for his gaze to eventually settle back to Kadar. "This man. Is not my friend."

Altaïr cringed when those words were uttered, while Kadar looked betrayed and slightly befuddled. Malik read his brother's expression like a book, and why would he make such a face? Was it not obvious? Altaïr never was his friend, he was but a mere patient. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet it was in that moment that it hit Malik. Altaïr had lied to Kadar. He'd most likely told Kadar that he was just "a friend of Malik's." It was no wonder how Kadar did not seem to mind Altaïr's presence. Why would he refuse his brother's friend?

"Kadar. Stay here." And in three long strides Malik was immediately in front of Altaïr. Despite the manifest difference in height, Malik still managed to grab Altaïr none-too-gently by the lapels and forcefully pulled him down so he met his gaze.

Altaïr was not unsurprised since he'd never expected a _therapist_ , of all people, to have enough strength to grab and successfully manœuvre him. "What other lies have you been feeding him?" Malik all but growled. Altaïr did not say anything because, damn, those lips were distracting. He could have kissed him then and there. Scratch that, he should have. But when no response was bestowed Malik shook him harshly. " _Tell_. _me_."

Altaïr was not intimidated because he had been in much more serious situations in his life, yet he couldn't help but be slightly worried. Even that was an understatement. He was extremely worried because he had fucked up majorly. Their relationship would probably never be normal. But if he had to rely on shadier methods to be near the other, then so be it.

"Mal," and Malik's grip loosened slightly. He turned his head and located the source of the vociferation. It was Kadar. "Even if he's not your friend, he's still my friend. I don't want you to hurt him." The kid had a frown on his face. Malik yielded to the child's wishes and let go of Altaïr, though he did not move out of the way. He did not even want so much of that man's shadow to touch Kadar.

Altaïr had a look on his face that shouted astonishment. After all that, the child still did not hate him? Well that was quite the pleasant surprise. Altaïr appreciated it very much, yet he did not think that he deserved it.

Kadar's expression softened. "Mal. Please, don't hurt him." His frown drooped even lower. "He didn't do nothing wrong."

Malik immediately left Altaïr's side and enveloped Kadar in a warm hug. "Kadar, you know I'm only doing this to protect you, right?"

The sentence did not have the desired effect and only incensed Kadar even more. Kadar pulled away angrily and fuck if Malik was not surprised. Kadar's eyes were glazed suspiciously with what appeared to be tears, though none were spilled. "Why won't you listen? Don't you trust me?" cried Kadar and wow, Malik definitely did not see that coming. "Of course I trust you, Kadar," Malik replied gently. He was completely serious, unless Kadar was expecting Malik to allow him to cook without supervision. Then, no, he did not really trust him in that case. But for the most part, yes, he did trust his brother despite the age difference. Kadar was mature for his age.

"Then why don't you believe me?"

Malik was about to give him a reply until he realised something: why would Kadar be lying? He couldn't have been blackmailed because earlier on Altaïr had brought up a decent point; what the hell would a kid like Kadar be blackmailed with? Candy? Toys? He was smart enough to realise that those two could be easily replaced, so it'd be nearly impossible for him to fall for such a tactic. And based off how Kadar had been reacting throughout the entire ordeal, perhaps he really did have friendly feelings towards Altaïr. Why else would he have opened the door to Altaïr? Kadar was extremely obedient, and rarely disobeyed Malik. He was smart enough to know not to open the door to complete strangers. Maybe Altaïr really was a good guy after all. Especially since Kadar kept insisting, which was not unusual for a kid as bubbly as Kadar, except Kadar had never been on the verge of crying over an adult (with the exception of Malik himself, but that was when he was _very_ young). On top of that, Kadar did not look abused, hurt, or traumatised; that was definitely the most important thing.

The only part that did not click was how in the unholy hell Altaïr had met and made acquaintance's with Kadar. Malik had never introduced him to the guy, and why would he? He barely knew him anyway.

Still, a part of Malik screamed that Altaïr was not to be trusted.

His past symptoms now added up to _obsession_. An obsession of some sort. But what obsession? An obsession to meet and befriend children? It seemed innocent, but could probably lead to trouble later on in his life. Malik had to look into it more.

He sighed. "I do believe you, but..." he trailed off.

On the side, Altaïr looked extremely relieved. At least Malik knew that he hadn't done jack shit to the innocent child. Why would he do terrible things to such an awesome kid like that? That'd be disgusting and inhumane, and Altaïr probably wouldn't be able to live with himself. He would never even entertain the thought either way.

Now, when it came to doing those things to Malik, that was a whole different story. He entertained the thought nearly _every single day_. It was alright since he was old enough (he was probably twenty-something, so why the fuck not?) and because Altaïr wanted to. Altaïr usually did not take other peoples say into account but, as said before, he was not inhumane. That was just the way he saw it.

"Then can you at least let him finish?" requested a sniffling Kadar.

When Malik sent him a confused look, Kadar added, "The play. The puppet play. It was funny and I want him to finish!"

Malik looked over at Altaïr who had a large grin tattooed on his face and was staring directly at him. Malik huffed and nodded, though that did not stop Altaïr from staring.

Altaïr picked up the puppets scattered on the floor while Kadar inched closer to him. Malik sent Altaïr the 'hurt-him-and-I-will-not-hesitate-to-castrate-and-kill-you' look. Altaïr smiled back lazily and, no, he was not supposed to be smiling. Why the fuck was he smiling?

Malik sighed and watched the two, keeping a wary eye on Altaïr.

He'd deal with the bullshit during their next appointment.

For now, Altaïr still had that puppet show to finish.

**"The match starts much earlier than it begins."**

Altaïr knocked thrice, adding a slight pause after the second knock.

The door immediately opened, and Altaïr had to look down to notice the tiny five-year-old. "Alty!" exclaimed Kadar, hugging said man around his hips.

Altaïr smiled down and smoothed his hand over the child's hair in an affectionate manner. "Good to see you, Kadar. Your brother here?"

Altaïr had to keep his guard high since he couldn't afford getting caught.

All hell would break loose in the event that it did.

Kadar shook his head. "Nope. He said something about getting stuff or something. And he told me not to answer the door. Not even if it was the President!"

Altaïr laughed again. The fact that the kid would answer the door to him and not to the President really said something. The past couple of weeks, Altaïr's visits to the abode of the Al-Sayf's had increased drastically. Thus the bond between Kadar and Altaïr had strengthened as well. Altaïr would keep Kadar company since it never was fun to play alone. Not that Kadar did not have any friends, for he was often sleeping over at another friend's house. It was usually on those days that Altaïr would silently lurk in the shadows and watch Malik completing his usual tasks. Except it was those tasks which often prevented Malik from playing with his brother. It was not rare to see Malik play with his baby sibling, but it was also not _extremely_ often either. Kadar knew that Malik had things to do.

"Really?" Altaïr ruffled Kadar's hair. In turn, the kid nodded his head enthusiastically and hummed. "Well, guess what I brought."

"Candy?"

Altaïr smiled. "Yes, but something else."

"Soda?"

"Nope."

"Burgers?"

What was with the kid and his obsession with food? "Nope."

"Toys?"

Altaïr smirked. "Close, but not exactly."

"Babies?"

Altaïr laughed and decided to take pity on the child. Kadar would probably be packing for College by the time he guessed correctly. "I promised I'd bring it the last time I was here."

"Puppets!" exclaimed Kadar while Altaïr nodded with ardour.

"I promised," repeated he as the miniature puppets were removed from the pocket of his hoodie.

Kadar inched closer in awe to see what type of puppets they were. "Where'd you get 'em?" Altaïr had a pleased grin plastered on his face. "I made them."

While Altaïr was setting the entire thing up Kadar spent the while complimenting him on his superior and "awesome puppet making skills." Altaïr appreciated the praise.

When everything was set up Kadar sat still and waited for Altaïr to start.

Altaïr nearly laughed to himself since Kadar was so excited, and Altaïr wasn't even that great of a storyteller. He was actually a pretty shitty one since he wasn't too fond of talking. But, Kadar was an exception.

"Once, there was an owl." An owl puppet appeared.

Kadar looked at him quizzically. "An owl?"

"Yes, an owl." An eagle appeared alongside the owl. "Now, there was also an eagle."

Kadar looked at Altaïr again. "An eagle?"

Altaïr smiled. "Yep, an eagle. The eagle and the owl were destined to be together forever—"

Kadar laughed. "That rhymes!"

"—until one day where this stupid, worthless, evil—" Altaïr looked over at Kadar and remembered that he was still only five years young. "Um, until a dumb lynx tried stealing the owl's heart." The owl was now between an eagle and a lynx.

"What? Why would a lynx want to have an owl when there are probably other lynxes out there? It's not even a bird." Kadar commented.

Altaïr shrugged. "Exactly, that's why the eagle and owl should be together, not the lynx and the owl."

"And why are they animals? Why can't they be cats or dogs?"

"I don't know, I mean why do people watch the Kardashians?"

"What?"

Altaïr had to remind himself once again that Kadar had only existed for no more than _five years_. He wasn't supposed to understand those references. "Uh, nothing."

"OK well can you please continue!"

And damn, that kid's enthusiasm made Altaïr feel like a boss. Of course he'd continue. "One day, the stupid lynx brought the owl gifts and stuff." Since Altaïr's hands were full, it was quite difficult to make the lynx puppet hold the 'gifts', so he held all three puppets in one hand and picked up the 'gifts' in another.

"Do I get a gift?" asked Kadar with his large puppy-dog eyes.

Altaïr chuckled and nodded. He produced various candies from his hoodie again. Kadar squealed and thanked Altaïr repeatedly before chewing the candies down. Malik had brought Kadar up properly.

"And soon the owl began to fall for the lynx more and more each passing day. This was not good since the owl and the eagle were supposed to be together." Altaïr inhaled a breath. "So, being the good eagle he was and by choosing to do the right thing, the eagle decided to... uh..." How was Altaïr supposed to say, "Kill the lynx," without sounding harsh, scary, or creepy?

Altaïr spent a couple seconds thinking while Kadar patiently waited. "Oh, right. Well, the eagle decided to get rid of the lynx."

Kadar looked at Altaïr, prompting him to add, "The lynx was bad." Kadar nodded in understanding soon after he said that.

"So, when the lynx was busy messing around with the owl..." Altaïr trailed off. The puppets fell out his hand.

"Well?" said Kadar.

Altaïr did not answer and kept staring behind Kadar.

Only until Kadar heard something drop on the ground did he turn around.

He was greeted with the sight of his older brother.

"Hi Malik!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worthless information
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Deprehensus_ , means "Caught" in Latin
>   * I'll probably stop now with the music credit, but that won't stop me with occasionally referencing them in other chapters haha
>   * Pat on the back if you can spot the reference in Altaïr's _very_ cracky "puppet show"
>   * I know, "puppet" is actually spelled "poppet"
>   * I kind of made the second quote up
> 



	15. Interrogo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions that yield no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash. A trash can. A dumpster. A landfill. :^)  
> Sorry 4 the hiatus.

 

" **I can't explain what I mean. And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd feel like it.** "

"Perhaps I haven't made it clear enough for you," Malik enunciated, as though he were talking to a mentally deficient child, "What were _you_ doing at _my_ apartment?" Apparently hand gestures were supposed to help Altaïr understand the question. Truth be told, he understood them full and well, he just did not wish to answer them.

Altaïr shrugged and fiddled with his thumbs. "I dunno," he lied.

"Oh, so you just _magically_ appeared at my apartment with puppets?" Malik sarcastically retorted, jazz handing to emphasise his point. For some ungodly reason, the quote, " _You're a wizard, Harry_ ," reverberated throughout Altaïr's mind. He shook his head as to dismiss the thought and replied, "No."

Malik scowled at that. "Then what in the unholy fuck were you doing there? Hell, how'd you even get there in the first place?" Altaïr stared and chose not to reply to that. Malik merely groaned. "We're going to be here _all day_ if you keep up like this." Altaïr shrugged. He extended his feet off the sofa they were sitting on as though he was literally melting onto the ground, grasping one of the pillows simultaneously. At that point, he was practically lying on the floor. He noted how his sneakers contrasted with the rug embellishing the floor, white Vans which had accumulated dirt throughout time, and wondered whether Malik's bare skin would contrast just as nicely if he had him pinned onto it.

He shared a private smirk with himself. To be fair, Malik's comment actually seemed like a great idea. He didn't see how that was supposed to be a bad thing. Maybe he should continue staying quiet to fulfil that potential consequence, though it wasn't much of one anyway.

Malik bit his tongue and tried to maintain his breathing. The idiot was testing his goddamn patience. He'd never met anyone as pigheaded and maddening as _this_ fool. They'd spent thirty-four minutes running in complete circles, Malik prying for answers while Altaïr kept his lips zipped about the entire ordeal. Honestly, it wasn't as though he was asking him to calculate the mass of the sun, for chrissake. Why was he muddling up such simple matters?

Malik sighed internally. These were the types of people he'd never understand, and he was fully aware that he'd yield no results by carrying on with his interrogating. But he'd get an answer eventually, though he'd have to be subtle about figuring it out. Mayhap in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Worthless information  
> 
> 
>   * Chapter title, _Interrogo_ , means "I ask/enquire" in Latin
>   * This can hardly be considered a chapter
> 



	16. Just a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't actually part of the main story, it's just a thing that I wrote. I'm not sure why, either.

_Altaïr sat back and watched the other through his peripheral vision. "Have you ever heard of the_ Matching Hypothesis _?"_

_Malik nodded slowly, initially caught offhand and slightly wary at the sudden change in topic. "Um, yes, Altaïr." He sighed and rolled his eyes after assuming that Altaïr took him for a fool who had printed out his degrees and diplomas and knew nothing of his profession. "I am not a therapist and studying to be a psychologist for nothing." But idiots still asked idiotic questions. "Why did you bring it up?"_

_Altaïr smirked and tilted his head in Malik's direction. The ceiling and walls seemed to smirk with him. "It seems like a pretty legit hypothesis. Actually, it shouldn't even have to be a hypothesis. It should be a law._ The Law of Matching _."_

 _"Actually, such a thing does exist._ The matching law _," Malik replied, glad that he was able to cease Altaïr's prating, for he felt his brain cells and patience depleting with each breath he took. Altaïr looked slightly irked at the reply, though it did Malik no harm. In fact, he mentally patted himself on the back for brewing such a response from the other._

_"I know," he'd said, as though he really did. Malik knew that Altaïr wasn't fooling anybody and didn't bother wasting his breath, nodding his head to display his attention. They remained silent for a moment, until Altaïr spoke up. "Do you believe in Complementarity then?"_

_"Yeah. It makes sense, but I don't think that humans should be comparing themselves to magnets as proof," replied Malik truthfully._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it ends abruptly because I never finished it... Ugh what the hell is wrong with me.


End file.
